Saltwater Cowboys
by amaretto and coke
Summary: Two years after Episode 26, Faye can only find one of her former teammates. And what he's become doesn't make her too happy. Here's a little something for you JetFaye fans. Completed.
1. The long way home

On the east side of Thoracia, a well-populated city on Ganymede, there was about three square blocks known as "The Neon Strip". The Neon Strip consisted of nothing but upscale department stores, high-quality boutiques, and polished eateries.

Only a small portion of Thoracia's inhabitants could regularly afford to sample the dainty wares of The Neon Strip, and it was not at all uncommon for visitors to eagerly flock there, only to be turned back, discouraged by the high prices. Considering that, the more shrewd business owners in Thoracia began to set up businesses right at the border of The Neon Strip, hoping to catch the attention of those with a slightly more limited disposable income. The plan worked like a charm, and soon, business space in "The Sunset Strip" became just as valuable and envied as anything over in Neon.

One of the most lucrative businesses flourishing in Sunset was a bar and grill called 'Saltwater Cowboy'. The land value was low, as the only piece of actual land involved in the property was about 400 square feet of beach, and a small dock. That dock led directly to a modified fishing boat which had at one time been prepared to fly in space. But those internal workings were long gone, and now the ship, which always had a faint odor of smoke about it, was permanently anchored into the seawall. Deprived of its original function, it was now equipped and prepared to float, and served as an authentic restaurant.

Naturally, 'Saltwater Cowboy' served primarily seafood, although they also prepared excellent steaks, and every few months, 150 freshly dressed racks of lamb would show up in the hold. Combining such fine dining with a suitably rowdy full bar made for an enjoyable experience, and the restaurant grew in fame, drawing customers from several cities away. The strong flavor of sea salts gave the seafood a unique taste. Many of the dishes were prepared by wrapping meat in banana leaves, covering the whole dish with filtered, sifted sand, and roasting for hours. The results spoke for themselves: juicy steaks, richly textured roasts, and slabs of meat that fell apart in their own marinades.

It was to this particular restaurant that Faye Valentine came one hot and lonely summer's evening, spurred by loneliness. Ever since Spike had vanished into the darkness of space and gone to his irrevocable appointment with Vicious, she hadn't felt at ease living on the _Bebop._ Despite Jet's attempts to offer her a home, she simply couldn't stay, feeling in her heart that Spike wasn't dead, that he was still out there somewhere. But two years had passed, and inspiration had long since faded, replaced by a sense of obligation. When duty had lost its grip, guilt set in, to be followed by boredom. Unable to return to the _Bebop,_ unable to make any contact with Ed, and still unable to locate Spike, she had come to Thoracia careworn and depleted.

The first thing she asked upon meeting one of the locals was, "Where can I get a good drink?"

The man had pointed her in the direction of 'Pleasure Island', after giving her a long once-over. But one glance at the lunch menu told her that the place was entirely out of her league. Timidly, she asked her server for a slightly less expensive bar. The young man's chuckle relieved her anxiety. "Don't worry, you're hardly the first person who's asked that today. You should try 'Saltwater Cowboy.' I go there myself when I'm off work."

"I'm new in town."

"Of course." He ripped off the unneeded order sheet and scribbled down directions. "Go back down the hill until you see a blue convenience store and a fruit stand, then use these directions. Walking, you should be there in less than ten minutes."

She followed the directions dutifully enough, and quickly found herself on a beach, trudging through warm, soft sand towards a pier. She blinked twice at the ship moored in the harbor. "God, that looks just like the _Bebop._" Painted on the corroding metal was an appropriately amateurish caricature of a cowpuncher riding a fish.

She stood on the dock, looking at the deck where she and Spike had often sat and stared at nothing for hours. There were all weather tables bolted to the surface, graced by sturdy, dark blue shade umbrellas. People sat there now, laughed, drank, and enjoyed themselves. On her ship. Her home. And she didn't even feel welcome there anymore.

A voice near her interrupted her reverie. "Can I get you anything, miss? A drink? A table?"

She looked up. A young man with deep red hair was standing in front of her, clutching a menu. He looked eager to please, and despite her bout of self-pity she smiled. "I just need a seat at the bar, please."

Obligingly, the host led her straight to the bar, where she sat and relaxed in the cool air. It caressed her bare shoulders with a mild touch, inviting and gentle. She ran her nails over the counter absently as the barkeeper approached. "Hey there, miss. Wantin' a drink? We've got margaritas on a happy hour special tonight, they're only two wulongs."

Faye smiled again. Already, she was smiling twice as much as she had for several days running. "I'm not really a margarita type of girl."

The barkeeper smiled back. Although Faye could tell that she was at least 45, the woman was remarkably well preserved. She hardly looked her age, with rich black hair that fell in a redundancy to her waist, and a perfect set of teeth. Her light blue eyes sparkled with vivacity, and her skin was still quite firm, with little need for makeup. Faye gazed at her with a slight twinge, envying the ability to genuinely grow older so gracefully.

"Y'know what…" Bottles clanked as the bartender began to set up for her shift. "I'm not either. They taste like soda to me."

"Me too."

"You should try the top shelf Marg, then." She removed two glistening bottles of Ouzo from a back cabinet. "Cuervo Gold, Grand Marnier, Cointreau float. Good stuff."

Faye pondered. "That's not a happy hour drink, is it?"

"Believe it or not, it is. They're normally seven wulongs, but they're two for one. Wanna try?"

Faye decided to try. The woman pulled three different glass bottles from the wall, measuring and pouring, mixing and shaking, and finally straining out pale green liquid into two ornate glasses before handing them over. Faye swallowed and gasped a little as the liquor seared her throat. "Whoops. Guess I've got to take it a little easier."

"It's top shelf, honey," the woman laughed. "Strong liquor in there. Don't suck, sip."

She took the advice given and sipped more slowly. This time the drink went down more smoothly and consoled her. The bartender nodded. "Name's Mak. Yours?"

"Faye."

"Nice to meetcha, Faye." Mak began to chop garnishes as she eyed Faye shrewdly. "You're not of Big Poppa's girls, are ya, Faye? One of the newer ones, maybe?" But at the puzzled look she got, she decided that it would do just as well as completely change the subject. "Never mind. You want food, too, darlin'?"

"Maybe in a little bit." Faye sipped and chewed on the ugly straw as a TV screeched in the background. She looked around. Too many happy people…it made her entirely too jittery. She didn't belong with cheerful couples, loving families…she belonged to a world of outcasts and shadows. Being thrust into the light like this just made her overwhelmed with anxiety.

She laughed and took another quick gulp. "God, it sounds like I'm talking about a cockroach." She picked up a menu and took a glance at the appetizers. Broiled alligator tail. Steamed crawfish. Peel and eat shrimp, served hot or cold. Steak quesadilas. She pursed her lips, trying to decide.

"Hey, you one of the new girls?" a voice asked.

Faye looked up at a woman wearing a beaded halter top and pants that struggled against physics to stay put. She cringed as the girl bent over to lean on the counter. What an awful makeup job…it made the poor thing look at least eight years older than it should have. The garishly blonde hair that spilled over her arms was frazzled and kinky, a sure sign of peroxide damage. This woman looked as artificial and cheap as Mak looked real. It was a disturbing comparison, especially when she recalled the similarity of the questions posed. Her voice quavered slightly as she answered. "'New girl?'"

"Ain't you Big Poppa's new girl? You look like someone he brought in the other day."

"Stacy," Mak snapped as she walked down to the end of the bar briskly. "Don't bother her."

"Ain't she the new girl?" Stacy asked insistently. "Cuz if she is, I got a job for her."

"Stacy," a deep voice growled.

All three women at the end of the bar looked up. One mouth fell open in surprise, as Faye promptly turned a deep shade of scarlet. "Jet."

Stacy looked surprised, and upset. "You know Big Poppa?"

"She's not the new girl," the man rumbled. "And you're not getting the rest of the day off, so forget it."

Infuriated, but impotent, Stacy stalked out of the bar and back onto the dock. Mak handed Faye a bar napkin and acknowledged Jet with a grin before heading back to the other end. Faye dropped her eyes, face still flaming.

"Is this stool open?" At her mumbled 'yes', he took a seat immediately to her left, shielding her from view. She was about as grateful as she could be under the circumstances: a few looky-loos who had been trying to get her attention were now quite discouraged.

"You haven't paid for these yet, have you?" he asked, pointing at her drinks. Without waiting for her to answer, he called for Mak, who came instantly. "Yes, sir."

"Whatever she's eating tonight is on me. Ring up her tab as a manager's meal."

Mak nodded before going back to her other customers. Faye finally looked up at him, face twisted with rage. "So you're a pimp now."

He shrugged ever so slightly. "If you'd like to call me that. I prefer to be called a businessman."

She resisted the powerful urge to throw her drink in his eyes and slap that smug smile right off his damned lips. A _businessman._ Trafficking in human misery. "You're disgusting, Jet. You're worse than Vicious."

He let one leg fall off the stool lazily as he smoothed out his suit. The metal arm balanced his body between stool and bar at a precarious angle, while the fleshy fingers searched deftly for his cigarettes. Having located his quarry and lit up, he blew a ring of smoke and looked at her coolly. "I'm sorry that I've disappointed you, Faye. But some of us had to going on living in the real world while you went out gambling your life away and chasing after ghosts." He straightened up with admirable quickness and caught the hand flying towards his face. "And hitting me isn't going to bring him back, either. So enjoy your drinks and your dinner." He dropped her arm abruptly before walking away.

A few errant tears puddled in her dark green eyes before slipping out and adding their salt to her margarita. She looked up at the bar, mumbling to herself. "This bar…right here…it used to be part of Spike's room…and down there was mine…but it's all gone now. You really can't go home again." She gestured to Mak.

"Ready to order now?"

"Yeah," Faye said with a sigh. "What's the most expensive thing on the menu tonight?"

The pretty bartender didn't even have to look while she answered. "Filet mignon and Ganymede Rock Lobster."

Faye thought about it as she finished the first margarita and dove headfirst into her second. "What's the best thing to eat? What would you personally recommend?"

"Hmm." Mak slid a frosty bottle of beer down the bar to a young man who was flirting with her, and rather badly at that. "I'd personally go with the dried peppercorn rack of lamb. Second most expensive item on the menu."

Faye took a huge swig of her drink, draining the glass. "I'll take it." She grimaced as the cold liquid suddenly gave her a throbbing headache. "Let me have a vodka martini next, please."

* * *

"How does it taste?"

Faye finished chewing before she answered. "It's delicious."

"Good." Mak leaned in a little closer before continuing. "Y'know, Big Poppa made that for you, special."

"Really." The meat suddenly felt dry and rubbery in Faye's mouth.

"Yep. He wanted to know which order was yours so he could cook it himself." She stood up as the drink printer whined out an order, snatching up the ticket. "You known him long?"

"A few years," Faye answered, stirring the hot, mealy potato around in its skin. "We used to work together."

"Hmm." Mak pulled down the bottles that she needed to mix two different drinks. "He showed up in Thoracia about a year ago with this ship, but it used to be set up to fly in space. It took about three weeks to get it renovated and made into a space big enough to hold a restaurant."

Faye's voice shook. "That space you're standing in…it used to be my friend's bedroom."

"Really?" Mak looked at her solemnly as she strained out refined alcohol into shot glasses. "So you and him was pretty close, huh?"

"Not really," Faye muttered.

Mak walked away to serve the drinks and take an order, leaving Faye alone. But when she returned, she motioned for the purple-haired woman to lean in closer. "Usually, when a pretty girl comes in alone and sits at this end of the bar, we all know she's one of Big Poppa's girls."

"He's a pimp," Faye said, disdain evident in her voice.

"I dunno 'bout that. See, he never takes money from his girls, and he don't let 'em do their business _here._ Mostly, he keeps guys from beating 'em up and keeps 'em fed. It's a pretty hard life for some of 'em. I think he's pretty nice to do it at all myself."

Faye didn't respond this time, taking a gulp of the vodka and vermouth combination.

"That Stacy girl that was talking to you earlier, she's probably gonna be gone soon. I'm surprised he took her in at all. She ain't been nothing but trouble since she came, stealing from the other girls and trying to handle business here in the store. She was trying to get you to take a john for her, that's why I stepped in." Mak put the bottles back in their wonted place. "But y'know, you can't be too upset if people think that you're…working. You're dressed a little funny."

Faye's mouth quirked. It was true. But still…it had never caused problems before.

Then again, she had never actually _known_ a pimp before.

She thought about the Jet that she had seen next to her. Silk suit. Patent leather shoes. Designer sunglasses. He had been wearing more wealth on his body just then than they, as a collective crew, had been able to make chasing multiple bounties. He had enough money to actually permit her to take advantage of his legitimate business, and she was angry with him for it. Why?

Why else? Because in making it on his own, and being wildly successful, he had shown that as much as his crew relied on him, he could get along just fine without them. He didn't need Ed. He didn't need Spike.

He didn't need _her._

And it also meant…he had forgotten. Spike's death, while sucking all of the air from her world, to all appearances had hardly made a dent in his. How could he go on, smiling, laughing, flirting, while his best friend's body lay rotting in an abandoned building somewhere?

How _dare_ he?

* * *

The dinner was done and she didn't want anything else to drink. Mak had offered her a dessert, but Faye had refused upon hearing the word "chocolate". It reminded her entirely too much of endless days spent in the Redtail, without gas and without food, surviving solely on candy.

The evening crowd was definitely picking up, and Faye soon became aware that her seat was wanted. Stacy, the girl she had met earlier in the evening, had returned, pushing her way up to the bar and practically demanding a drink from Mak. She glanced down at Faye as Mak handed her a bottle, curling her thin lips with displeasure. "You still here?"

"Stacy, cut it out," Mak said sharply.

The girl sucked her teeth derisively, neither moving nor taking her eyes off Faye. It was quite obvious, to Mak at least, that Stacy was both contemptuous and deeply jealous of this new girl. She crossed her arms and leaned against the back bar as she wondered where Jet had managed to get hold of this one. She looked so sad. Crushed. Like a rose that should have been blooming and ripe with color, but through some unfortunate set of circumstances had wilted in its prime.

"Hell," she muttered as she picked up a bottle of butterscotch schnapps, "listen to me gettin' all poetic. Next thing I know, I'll start wantin' to find a husband or somethin'."

* * *

Author's Notes:

1. In case you can't tell, Don Henley's "Down at the Sunset Grill" inspired several items in this chapter. Great song. The chapter name itself, however, comes from Supertramp's "Take the Long Way Home," also a very neat song.

2. 'Saltwater Cowboys' is the name of an actual restaurant in Tampa, FL. Never been there myself, but I've got a good imagination.

3. Mak and Stacy's voices and inflections are based on people that I know. Darn shame, that.

4. And a little comfort for those of you who are already starting to get a funny taste in your mouths concerning this fic: while Jet is most definitely a pimp, Faye is most definitely NOT his ho. So fear not.

Chapter 2 be coming soon!


	2. Can't let go

In a hidden cubby that formerly housed engine guts, Jet Black mused over figures: numbers upon numbers, and shorthand words that meant whole cases of food. He chewed a pen thoughtfully and scribbled.

Profit was looking good. Despite no previous restaurant or managerial experience, he had been able to keep abreast of inventory, simply by keeping detailed records. It seemed as though he would be able to exceed the forecasted expectations set down for him by a somewhat austere and heavy-handed accounting firm. He rolled his pen around on the paper, content in his own competency.

A knock on the door interrupted his pleasant musing. Without waiting for recognition, Mak came barging in, looking a little bit peeved. "Boss, just wanted to tell ya that Stacy's giving that friend of yours a bit of a hard time."

He pressed his full lips together with something like a frown. "Faye can take care of herself, I think."

"Boss," Mak said in a voice that she seldom used. "I think you'd better come handle this."

He looked at her, face growing stern. "Fine. That means you're closing accounts tonight." He tossed her the pen in a deft movement before brushing her aside and marching back up to the upper levels of the ship.

He knew just where to go: the bar. More specifically, _his _end of the bar. And waiting there was less of a scene than he expected, but a scene nonetheless. He silently thanked Mak for having enough good judgment to get him involved sooner as opposed to later.

Stacy had her heavily plastered face close to Faye's, snarling at her. Faye was bristling back, but overall she looked quite outclassed, in the way that a small, tenacious dog can only hope to bluff a bigger one. He took just a moment to compose himself before stepping between them. "Ladies, what's the problem?"

"Big Poppa," Stacy spat out in a whining, irritated voice, "just cuz she's your friend don't mean she can come all up in my space like this."

To this Faye was mute, contenting herself by bowing her head, and seemingly, throwing herself on his mercy. He understood completely. She was too tired, too worn, too beaten to fight back. He let his eye fall on Stacy quite casually. "How is she in 'your space'? Looks like she's just sitting on a bar stool to me."

"She gettin' attitude with me!" the blonde girl protested, plainly unused to being required to give an account of her behavior. "I don't know why she got to be cuttin' her eyes at me and actin' like she too good to speak. Bitch don't even look that good no way."

He held his hands up to stem the tide of poor grammar. "Enough. Stacy, you've fought with every girl in here since you came. I don't think that you're very happy here, and it'd be better for you if you moved on."

Silence ensued as the bar scene continued on noisily around them. Stacy's face showed her consternation quite clearly. She was trying, and trying hard, to decide if Jet was joking without resorting to actually having to _ask._

Faye still held her subordinate position. His heart ached for her badly. What could have gone so wrong as to tame the lovably psychotic shrew that he had known?

Finally, someone spoke. "Big Poppa, you…you kickin' me out?"

"Not really," he said in a soft voice that made Faye tremble inwardly: that voice had always been a precursor of deep-rooted anger. "I'm asking you to leave, because I don't want you to be somewhere that you aren't happy."

The girl heaved a noisy sob. "Why you doin' this? Where I'm gonna go? What I'm supposed to do?"

"It's not my problem anymore." Jet took a second to relieve himself of the death-grip that Stacy had taken on his sleeve. "But I can't keep someone around who constantly picks fights. Go home to your parents, if you're that desperate. They're still looking for you." He forcibly marched the girl away, deaf to her pathetic weeping.

Faye watched silently, somehow moved by the girl's display of emotion. It took a few moments for her to hear the "hem" behind her. She turned to see Mak.

"Did he throw her out?"

"Yeah." Faye turned back around, puzzled. "She didn't strike me as the crying type."

Mak snorted. "She ain't. Nothing but crocodile tears. If you took her back in, she'd be waitin' on ya to step out of the door so she could get at ya. Spiteful, pure an' simple." She strolled away as a customer waved an empty glass at her.

The sound of fabric scraping against leather made Faye turn to the left. Jet had placed himself beside her once again. He didn't look at her, staring straight ahead at the back of the bar. "What's on Faye Valentine's mind tonight?"

She stared down at a plateful of bones and pepper seeds, having so very little to say at the moment. The desire to look for Spike was keen, but inevitably waning. She didn't have the slightest idea where to find Ed. And as for _him…_he had another life now, and there didn't seem to be much room for her. "Why do you do this, Jet?"

He looked at her, trying to judge what she meant. "The business, or…"

"You know what I mean," she cut in, voice growing angry.

He promptly turned away again. Those bottles must have been utterly _fascinating._ "Just trying to help, the best way I know how."

"By helping women sell themselves?"

"I don't make them do it."

"That's a great excuse. And here I was, thinking that you had the most morals and ethics of all of us."

"There is no 'us', Faye." His voice had picked up a bit of an edge. Apparently the spoken, and unspoken, references to their mutual past were beginning to wear thin. "That part of my life is over and done now. If you care to move on at some point, just let me know."

"Bastard," she hissed, slamming back the remaining dregs of her drink to give her the courage she lacked. "Spike's dead, and you – you didn't bother to stop him. You could have…you should have…done something!"

He shook his head, looking at her with eyes that held an odd mixture of pity and frustration. "How long are you going to keep living in the past? He's dead, woman! Accept it and get on with your life!"

She stared at him, dark green eyes brimming over with rage and tears. "Don't you dare lecture me, you…you dirty –"

"Did you ever stop to think that maybe, just maybe…" He grabbed her slim wrists to prevent the possibility of a slap, "…he wanted to die?"

She snatched away from him violently, jostling back into another patron. Unable to meet the man's surprised stare, she stammered out an apology before making a direct beeline for the door.

Jet turned back to the multi-colored bottles, face twisted with ire. Mak drifted by slowly. "You handled _that_ real well." She looked at the drink orders before consulting the speed rack and retrieving several glasses from the cooler. "Ain't you even gonna go after her?"

"No need." Jet lit up and blew a smoke ring. "She doesn't have anywhere to go. Mark my words, she's sitting on the deck as we speak."

"You're so damned chivalrous," Mak drawled sarcastically, eliciting a grin from her employee. "Where you been all my life?"

The grin became wicked in an instant. "Naked and sitting on your bed, but you never got home quick enough."

The bartender squealed with laughter. "Does that mean the accounts are screwed up tonight?"

"You know it. Don't worry, you can have your overtime." He crushed the half-finished cigarette in a used ashtray before making his lazy way towards the main door.

* * *

As usual, he was right. Faye was sitting outside, staring forlornly into the black, brackish water. The dim illumination from the outdoor deck did little to penetrate the darkness. But as a plus, it made viewing the stars that much easier. He came and sat down beside her, noting her tiny hiss of defiance with amusement. "Where are you going to go tonight, Faye?"

"What's it to you?" she asked bitterly.

"If you don't have anywhere to sleep, there's still two rooms on the ship that have beds in them."

She sneered. It was definitely not her most flattering facial expression. "So you can take care of your 'willing charges', right?"

"How old are you, 78? I'd have thought you would have moved on past the playground insult level by now."

She stood. "I don't know why you're bothering with me at all. Obviously the past means nothing to you, so we have no claim on each other. I don't want anything from a man like you, who can just pick his friends up and throw them back down like rag dolls at his convenience."

He shrugged, looking up at her. "If you don't want anything from me, go inside and pay your bill. It's about 200 wulongs. You've got it, don't you? Considering how productive you've been, and how much money you've earned and all."

She seethed with useless anger. _God, why can't I just quit while I'm ahead…_

Seeing that he was winning, Jet stood and dusted off his clothes. "It's your decision, Faye. I'm not going to make you come inside. But remember, while your pride can make a good backup in an argument, it's a lousy substitute for a warm bed and feather pillows."

And then he turned away.

"Wait just a minute, Jet Black." Her voice was full of ice.

He stopped, barely deigning to turn his head back. "Whatever for?"

"While I may not have feather pillows to sleep on tonight, it's better than giving in to a Judas like you. And believe me, my pride can keep me warmer than any bed." She smirked, fully confident that she had bested him.

But alas, she was quite wrong. The serene expression in those dark eyes told her so immediately. "Keep telling yourself that. But remember, ultimately you're the one who always chose to be alone. Back in the 'good ol' days'. Hope that thought keeps you warm, too. It gets chilly on Ganymede at night." And with that said, he went back inside, leaving her trembling with outrage, and ready to collapse with grief.

* * *

When he strolled back inside the smoky, noisy bar, Mak was ringing an obnoxiously loud bell. And they all knew what that bell meant. Last call. He checked his Omega watch, a relic from the past that he couldn't quite bear to part with. 11:40. Just twenty minutes until they could kick everyone out at once.

"Where's your pretty friend?" Mak asked, regarding him narrowly.

"Outside. Just where I thought she'd be." Jet looked at his lighter, running the tips of his metal fingers over its unusual proportions and protruding edges.

"And you didn't get her?"

"Hardly. It's not my business to make her come in, you know."

Mak twisted her lips. "You like her, don't you?" she asked softly.

"What gave you that terrible idea?"

"Oh, the paperwork downstairs. Y'know, you sketched a pretty good picture of her face on the invoices."

"Shit," he growled, suddenly clutching the lighter with an unnecessarily firm grip.

"In triplicate, too." The bartender smiled sweetly as her employer's face turned a charming shade of pink. "You gonna help me clean, since I gotta do your paperwork?"

"Nope. That's what the wait staff is for. And incidentally, it's your paperwork too, my raven-haired beauty."

"Wow. Ya sure know how to make a girl happy." She picked up a few empty glasses and dunked them into the hot water wash.

"Damn right. I'm all about…"

"The ladies," they finished in unison, and laughed. But Mak stopped laughing, and gave Jet another of her odd smiles, before hurriedly rinsing the glasses and dropping them into the sterilizing tank. "You got a missile coming up on your right flank, hon."

"Bogey at four o'clock?"

"Darn tootin'. I'd better be on my way. Gotta get these rowdies out of here, cuz I can't stay all night again."

"And when you're here all night again, Mak, you're welcome to the guest room."

"Thanks," she said, prodding his shoulder playfully. She wiped her hands on her dishtowel before pressing the button at the base of an old-fashioned school bell, which clanged noisily. She shouted to be heard over the din. "It's 11:55, folks! Time to go home for the night!" With a small amount of good-natured grumbling, the crowd slowly began to vacate the premises.

"Is this seat taken?" a female voice snarled in his ear.

He didn't look up. "Have a seat."

Faye plopped down beside him, face still tight with rage. "Just for tonight, Jet. Tomorrow, I'm out of here."

"Just as you please," he answered placidly, angering her further. Why the hell couldn't he gratify her just once by being his old self? Scream at me, Jet. Make a big stinky fuss the way you used to. Do _something_ to make me feel at home.

He did none of the above, instead rising to embrace a few select women with varying degrees of skin showing. They all saluted him with his _nomen_ "Big Poppa", and Faye had to fight an awful premonition that arose, thanks in part to her growing superstition. What if he was planning…to make her…

No! She squashed the thought down and crushed it. He wouldn't dare…!

But still…she would have never pegged Jet for a silver-tongued smooth talking ladies' man. It _was_ possible, after all…

"It'd better be damned improbable," she said in a low voice as the last few remaining guests found themselves being shooed out of the door.

Jet returned soon enough, walking towards the back of the ship and down a level. "Are you ready, Faye?"

She followed him silently as they passed so many familiar areas. The old food hold (although there had rarely ever been food there) was appropriately enough a huge pantry. The lower level mechanical closet now held several thousand wulongs' worth of liquor. Other rooms that she vaguely remembered were now locked and bolted, holding, she presumed, valuable equipment.

"Here we are." He retrieved a key from his breast pocket and opened an unassuming door, stepping back to let Faye enter.

She smothered a little gasp of surprised delight. This room had clearly been fitted up by another woman, or in any case been decorated with a woman in mind. It was frilly and lacy and everything that she had loved dearly as a child, and as a result was the complete antithesis of her old bunk on the _Bebop_. Eggshell-blue wallpaper covered the wall, matching the two lamps quite nicely. The boudoir, its chair, and the bed's frame were all made of brass piping, and complimented the wall sconces. A pastel dresser sat happily against the far wall, eagerly awaiting a burden of clothing.

"Did you do this yourself?" she asked him shyly.

"Mak helped, but for the most part, yes."

"It's so pretty." She stepped inside timidly, hardly daring to run her fingers over the furnishings. Jet laughed. "They're not made of mist, Faye. You can touch them a little harder if you'd like."

"I've wanted a bed like this for about fifty years now," she said, not hearing him. "They were…antiques on Earth, even in my day. They should be complete relics by now."

"Reproductions. Made using Earth plans. Go ahead, lie down on the bed."

The words _lie down_ and _bed_ coming from Jet Black's mouth suddenly struck a nerve, and she looked at him, irrationally annoyed. "How many of your sluts have slept in this bed before me, Jet?"

"All of them," he said. "But if it puts your mind at ease, not only was I not in that bed with a single one of them, but those are brand new sheets. Purchased yesterday." He put his hand on the doorknob, with seemingly every intention of leaving. "There's bath towels in the middle drawer of that dresser, and the bathroom is through that door." He directed her attention to a portal that she had previously missed. "You'll be glad to know that the water is quite hot. Good night, Faye."

She balled her fists, as there was little else that she could do to express her frustration at this point. "Damn you."

"Excuse me?" His voice was that same level of taunting calm.

"Why can't you just _yell_ at me, Jet! It's not enough that you've somehow managed to get a business started all by yourself, but you're a noble pimp too? And now, you won't even get mad anymore – god! Why can't things just…" Her voice cracked, and a sob escaped. "…stay the same?"

She felt that damned metal hand on her bare shoulder. Even _it_ didn't feel right: it should have been cold, but no – it was mildly warm, reminiscent of flesh. "Because things _change,_ Faye. I change. You're changing. The world's changed. And you can't hang on to the past forever, because one day you'll look up and wonder where the hell your life went while you weren't looking. You can't see the stars if you're too busy staring at the dirt, you know?"

"Where did you get that one, a fortune cookie?" She wished that she could take the words back as soon as she heard them. But it was his own fault – leaving her behind and then expecting her to just cheerfully play catch up…

"No, it's actually a song lyric. But that's really neither here nor there, and I've got some work to do with Mak. If you need either of us, we'll be in the office. It's where the engine room used to be on first floor." He left before she could muster enough bile to spit at him again.

The irritation gone, Faye drearily went over to the bureau and found the promised linen. She also found an alluring pair of shell-pink lace pajamas, and she wondered curiously who had worn them before. But they looked and smelled quite new, and they were in her size…and they were definitely going to be hers tonight. Supplied so adequately, she stepped into the bathroom, which was as equally suited to her taste as the bedroom.

Forty minutes elapsed before she could find the will to leave the bathroom. It had been so nice to soak in a hot, steamy tub without fear of interruption from an incomprehensible hacker or a psychotic Welsh Corgie. She toweled her hair for a few moments, but gave up shortly; she was too tired. She'd just comb it out in the morning. Struggling into her pajamas, she crawled into bed and rested face down in the pillows.

"Damn it, he was right again," she muttered as her weight distributed to all the right places. "Pride ain't got _nothing_ on feather pillows…"

* * *

Author's Notes:

1. Jet's quote "You can't see the stars if you're too busy staring at the dirt" is an alteration of the chorus from Billy Franks' "Earth and Nearby Space". The proper way that the song goes is as follows.

How can you understand me

My time and place

If I am the universe

But your concern is earth and nearby space?

Neat song.

2. Chapter title is one of maybe two Mariah Carey songs that I can listen to more than once and remain reasonably calm. Yes, this is becoming a pattern. No, this is NOT becoming a songfic. At least not in the general sense.

3. Please tolerate, as best you can, Mak's ever-changing accent. I've found, much to my personal dismay, that the way that a person may speak to a customer or a client very often differs from how they may talk with a peer; a more pronounced accent may come out, or possibly laziness concerning the language. I'm noticing more discrepancies as I go along, and it's becoming personally challenging to keep credibility alive. But if there's too much of a gap, please tell me. If that means I have to reload these first two chapters to make sure things match up, I'll get on it.

And that's it for now, I think. Chapter Three will be slightly more erotic. With some actual Jet/Faye tossed in for good measure. How 'bout that!


	3. I know there's something going on

Despite the sheer excellence of her accommodations, Faye woke quite early the next morning. Most likely she just wasn't used to hearing water sloshing in close proximity while she slept. But in any case, she was awake, and less groggy than usual. As she wandered into the bathroom, she heard voices, made faint by the barriers of glass and metal and water.

Her reflection blinked back at her through thick black eyelashes as she washed her face. There was toothpaste, but no brush. After a moment's hesitation, she squirted a little onto her fingertip and made do as best she could.

The rumbling of a truck startled her for a moment. She wasn't used to hearing land-bound vehicles, and they were ridiculously loud to have such pathetic engines. She heard the voices again, and she strained to distinguish the one that she very much wanted to hear.

There it was: deep, manly, spoken with a mild air of authority. Providing an accompaniment was a female voice, sweet and low and drawling. Faye had to fight down a sudden wave of jealousy by talking to herself. "He doesn't like _you…_and Mak's a great person…no reason to get pissed off with her. No reason to be upset…just because he has everything…and you have nothing…" She shook her head sharply, trying to shake away the negativity.

A quick search of the dresser drawers produced a pair of black denim shorts and a custom-designed T-shirt, obviously a server's uniform. Having nothing else to wear and unwilling to put on her usual clothes for fear of more solicitations, she slipped into the clothes, which fit her quite well. She couldn't wear her heels with this getup, but it was only 8:30 a.m., and it wouldn't kill her to go barefoot. She wandered out and up.

As she had been able to predict earlier, Jet and Mak were on the wooden dock, talking and laughing with an old man, who in turn spoke with them in a friendly, though not quite informal, manner. He seemed to regard the restaurateurs as his superiors, and often punctuated his sentences with a humble bow. Mak constantly pressed him to come in, but he just as consistently refused.

Faye's entrance forced a lull in the conversation. Jet beckoned her forward, and she came to stand by his side. He clapped his metal arm around her shoulders, presenting her to the older man. "Here's our early bird! Senor Lopez, this is Faye Valentine. Faye, Hector Lopez."

"Ah, Mees Vah-lund-tin." The older man kissed her hand reverently. "Meester Negron, he tell me so much about you. I am glad to meet you this once."

"Negron?" Faye repeated in some confusion.

"Black," Mak whispered helpfully.

She thought for a moment before realizing that the man was Latino in origin. Mr. Lopez, meanwhile, was handing a slip of paper to Jet. "There are feefteen cases, Meester Negron. I catch them last night. They are very fresh."

"Of course." Jet handed the man a stack of bills. "And there we are." He looked back at the two women. "Someone want to give me a hand with all these oysters?"

Mak immediately bounded forward, climbing into the truck and wrestling down a wooden crate. Faye advanced cautiously, trying not to be in the way as the pair began to tote their heavy cargo back into the ship. Mr. Lopez touched her arm timidly. "Mees Vahlundtin, you…are Meester Negron's _amiga?_ From long ago?"

Guessing that he meant 'friend' and not 'woman', she nodded.

"Bountee hunter? You knew Spuh…spuh…"

"Spike?" she finished.

"_Si._ Meester Speeghul. Meester Negron, he tell me so much about you, and him, and a muchacha…Eduarda."

"Ed!" she said excitedly, but stopped upon actually _hearing_ what he had said. "Jet told you…about us?"

"_Si._ Meester Negron, he care very much. He is sad when he talk about his _amigo y amigas._ But he is so kind. He feed many people. He buy my food when no one else would." The man paused in counting the bills and smacked his free hand against his thigh. "Thees, see?" He shook the money at Faye. "Thees is his way! He always give too much! Too kind. He is a good man. He deserve good woman." The older man stepped out of the truck and unconsciously, Faye offered him her hand. He accepted as he shuffled down the stairs. "I give him the money back. And then I go home and hug my family." He pinched her arm in a fatherly sort of way. "You should hug people you care about too, Mees Vahlundtin. Tell them you care." He shook the money again. "I must not take his money."

Mak came out and chuckled at the stooping man. "Did he give you too much again, hon?" At the acknowledgment, she laughed. "But you know, that's just his way. And you know he ain't takin' it back. Just come on in, have some breakfast and keep it."

"I cannot." Mr. Lopez visibly swelled with unconscious pride. "It would be wrong."

Mak roared with laughter. "Have it your way, then." She looked at Faye. "Wanna help me bring in a few cases? We'll only have to move about five. Jet usually gets all the rest before I can get back out here."

Faye agreed, and walked around to the back of the truck as Mak went climbing right up. Faye grinned as she watched the older woman move. _She's just like Ed…so full of energy and always so happy._ The smell of fresh oysters filled her nostrils, and though they had never been her favorite sort of seafood, she couldn't help but wonder what they would taste like, steamed and rich and floating in soup broth.

"Catch!" Mak shouted, pushing a crate. Faye caught the rope that that was securely bound in one end, using her legs for balance. It was quite heavy and took some skill to manipulate. "How many oysters are in here?" she yelled above the engine's grumbling.

"Prolly a good 15 dozen per crate," Mak grunted, carefully stepping off the flatbed. "We go through 'bout ten of the crates the same day that we buy 'em. All the rest go into soup." The women slowly wended their way back into the restaurant, slowing down even more as they maneuvered down the stairs towards the pantry labeled 'fresh'. Inside was Jet, and Mr. Lopez, who was vainly attempting to return the excess money. "Meester Negron, I cannot. You must take it back."

Jet shook his head, amused but firm. "We go through this every time, Mr. Lopez. I gave it to you for a reason, and I don't want it back."

"But it is not right."

"It's perfectly right. You give me fresh food, and I sell it at a profit and have satisfied customers, who bring me more people to make satisfied customers out of. You should be compensated well for your time. Do you want breakfast?"

"No, sir."

"Well, Hector, I'll see you when you come back from your next fishing trip." And Jet turned around to continue with the inventory.

Mak grinned as she and Faye struggled into the room. "Told ya."

* * *

The women managed to bring in three more crates before the truck was empty. Jet shooed them out of the storeroom, telling them that if they were that desperate to be productive, they could scrub and mop the bar. So they did, grabbing two buckets, a long-handled scrub brush and a mop. A few minutes later, Faye was wrinkling her nose at the smell of the bleach. When Mak saw her, she laughed. "You'd better put an apron on, hon, or change shorts. This bleach'll ruin 'em."

Faye decided to go with the first option, tying a dingy cook's apron around her slim body. "How do you know Jet? How did this restaurant get started?"

"Let's see." Mak drummed her fingers as she watched Faye attack the tile floor. "About a year ago, this ship landed in this here bay, pretty close to this dock. See, Sunset wasn't quite as developed as it is now, so it wasn't too big of a deal. Anyway, Jet hired about six wreckers to take out all the engine parts, and a few designers to change the ship around and get it up to code to be a restaurant." She paused as she poured herself a shot of Sprite with the bar gun. "Everybody 'round here thought he was crazy, trying to make a restaurant out of a damn ship. But see, it was a good idea. While everyone around us is paying for the land, and usually the rental or the mortgage on the building they got, Jet only pays for that dock outside. All the rest of the property is his, and he don't pay for the water."

"So by comparison, he's already ahead."

"Yep. Scrub harder, baby. Those stains, they'll come up. Just need some elbow grease." Faye complied and Mak continued. "I used to work in Neon. But see, once you get my age, it gets hard to find work as a bartender. They don't mind older men bartending cuz it makes 'em look respectable. But they don't like older women, they want cute girls like you. Y'know, mid-life crisis. So when I'm the best bartender in the house, but I'm getting my shifts taken away for some sun-bleached piece o' ass, y'know, writin's on the wall." She stopped to gulp down her soda. "So one day, I see ol' Jet here cleaning up the outside of the ship from the balcony of 'Seabreeze' – where I used to work – and I think, 'Hell, if he's doing what I _think_ he is, he's gonna want some help.' So my shift got over and I went on down to Sunset where he was, and started talking with him, and he told me he was a bounty hunter, but he had given it up and was gonna start a restaurant. And I said, 'Oh hell yeah, you're gonna need my help.'" The women both laughed.

"So I asked him what he knew about restaurants? And he said, 'Not shit.' So I told him to come up to Seabreeze for a few minutes and see how they ran the place, and see if that's what he wanted to do. And he did, the next day. He liked the food, but he wasn't real fond of the atmosphere – said it was too snooty for him. So we went to a few other places around, and he got ideas, and took notes on what he liked and what he didn't, and we went to some different places in Sunset to see how he could beat them at their game too. And I helped him make the menu myself." Mak looked over the counter again as Faye waged war with the dirty grout. "Hey, use the edge bristles to scrub those cracks, and then let it set for a few minutes. Dirt'll come right out."

Faye nodded and continued to clean as Mak related Jet's struggle for recognition and legitimacy; apparently the Better Business Bureau had a little bit of hostility towards nearly everything 'Sunset'. "But we did it, and without any bribes, either," she finished proudly. "Looks like you're done. Sit down, and I'll mop."

Faye did, dwelling on the word 'we' for a moment. It was quite plain that Mak held a position of importance in this business, and that Jet considered her his equal as opposed to his employee. The green-eyed snake bit her again, and she fought the resulting agony that arose. There was no denying that Mak was damned beautiful. And the Jet Black that she had known had always been a lonely man…

"How 'bout you, Faye?" Mak asked "How did you meet him?"

How, indeed? I was running from the law and the first time I spoke to him, I was handcuffed in a john? Faye coughed nervously. "Let's just say it wasn't near as cordial as when you met him."

"Lemme guess. You were a bounty?"

"Yeah."

"No shit?" Mak stared at her anew. "I was just kiddin'. Damn, if you were one of _his_ bounties, you musta done somethin' really bad. He told me the reason he never made much money was cuz he only went after really big catches, so by the time y'all caught 'em, the money would all be going to gas and food and ammo, and there'd be none left."

That was partially true. Faye was grateful, and deeply so, that Jet hadn't revealed the _true _reason why the _Bebop's_ crew was always so poor: her penchant for taking things that weren't rightfully hers and a rather troublesome gambling addiction. "I…was in trouble for a debt that I owed some time ago. How old are you, Mak?" She regretted the bluntness of the question immediately and added, "If you don't mind me asking such a personal question."

"It's alright. I'm 'bout…" The woman paused in the middle of her cleaning, face twisting as she did some mental calculations. "…'bout 47."

"I'm 71."

_"Really?"_ Mak gawked. "Day-uhm. How you keep lookin' so good? I didn't think you were a day over 23."

"I was cryogenically frozen around the time that I was 17."

"You kept real good."

Faye smiled sadly. "Some days I wish that I could age a little."

"Yeah, must be hard to see your friends getting older, even dying, maybe, and you're stuck in time. I had a few friends who were frozen too. They didn't handle it real well after waking up."

"Yeah?"

Mak bit her painted lips, clearly weighing the wisdom in speaking further. Her voice was low when she began again. "They killed themselves, Faye."

The room took a sudden spin. Faye clutched the bar before she spoke again. Her voice was also low, tinged with fear. "Why?"

The older woman shook her head as she dunked the mop. "It's hard to live forever, y'know. Three of 'em just got bored. It's no fun to live forever if you gotta work forever because of it. Two of 'em got married, but their husbands left 'em cuz they couldn't take seeing themselves getting old and broke down while their wives stayed young and beautiful for fifteen years. That sounds funny, I know. But it's rough on the ol' ego when you can't get it up and your wife still looks like jailbait. You start getting suspicious of her and everything she does and everywhere she goes, day in and day out. You can't live a happy life like that. And the last one…she was on a space exploration mission that required twenty years of her life to be spent in space doin' research on stuff that people couldn't even use at the time. When she got back, her children were grown and older than she was. None of the scientists that she was workin' for even remembered who she was. Her friends had forgot her. All that work she did was just put into a computer and stored away. She just got lonely after a while, and tired of livin' for nothing." As she finished, she squeezed out the mop in the bucket's contraption and reached for the squeegee. "But let's not keep talkin' 'bout that death stuff. You wanna grab that board behind the bar? There are some markers right near it, and some stencils too."

Faye obeyed, only too glad to change the subject. "What do you want me to do with it?"

"Take the stencil that says 'oyster' and fill it in, and write something on there 'bout a dozen oysters for three wulongs."

So she did, deciding on a silvery marker with a sparkly pink one set aside for the innards of the oyster stencil. By the time she was done, Mak had also finished with the floor. She came over to examine Faye's handiwork. "Looks super. I'll bet Jet's done downstairs. Why dontcha talk to him for a while? I gotta get cleaned up since I'm gonna work the floor today."

Faye took the hint, removing the apron and heading towards the stairs. But she stopped as Jet came marching up, looking…hmm. He wasn't quite as dapper as he had been the day before, but he still looked great in an oxford dress shirt and black slacks. He gave her a smile. "You gonna work today?"

She looked down at herself, having forgotten that she was pretty much dressed to work. The anger from last night had all but fled in the face of his generosity, and she admitted to herself that she was actually semi-curious about making an honest day's living. "Sure, why not?"

* * *

"So how do you run this place?" Faye asked over the hum of the blender.

Jet didn't answer immediately as he prepared a mango puree, instead offering her a few chunks to nibble on. Once the machine stopped, though, he began to speak. "Trial and error, and sending out my servers to other restaurants to determine strengths and weaknesses. I have a consulting firm on staff, but I use them primarily for accounting purposes. I've found that they don't know very much about the food service business."

"You seem like you're doing pretty well, for a newcomer to the field."

"Funny. They said the same thing." He left her for a brief time to load an ice bucket, and continued upon returning from the back of the house. "They're a little pissed off with me, because I wouldn't take their advice, and was successful anyway. I'm making them look bad." He grinned. Obviously he wasn't too sorry about it.

"How is the ship supported?"

"On about two thousand separate bolts and three tons of concrete. It goes down about thirty feet into the sand. That way, when hurricanes come, the ship just sits here."

"But the water doesn't eat the hull?"

"Nah. The submerged part of the ship is covered with a layer of plastic. Saltwater has a hard time getting through." He sneaked a quick glance at her, trying to figure out why she was asking so many questions about his business. Small talk aside, there was really no clear reason as to why she should be so terribly interested.

"What determines your menu? Demand?"

"Sometimes. For instance, I've found that there are only so many racks of lamb that we can sell in a month, and lamb's not a meat you want to just have sitting around. So I order about twenty less than we can normally sell over two months. That way, people who couldn't get one the first time around come running back in the place as soon as they hear we've got more."

"But they're so expensive."

"True, but you'd be surprised how many we sell. Especially to people who just came from Neon because it was too expensive to eat there."

"Would you ever consider setting up a shop in Neon?"

"No way. Not only would it cost too much to get started, but they don't treat people right in that place. You know that Mak used to work in a restaurant in Neon, right?"

She nodded.

"I heard somewhere that the restaurant that she used to work at lost a lot of business after she left. She was pretty much the brains of the place, and they didn't even realize it." He began to cut up citrus for garnishes. "I'm damned lucky we met. She deserves most of the credit for how successful this place's been." He didn't look at Faye while he was speaking, and it was just as well. Otherwise he might have seen her draw her fingers across her eyes in a suspicious manner. "I met Senor Lopez through her. He was a fisherman that they ran out of Neon some time ago, and he had good quality seafood to sell, with no one to sell it to. I started buying his food exclusively about four months ago. Now, whatever he's got on hand for the week, I buy all of it as soon as he can get it in the truck."

"Why? You don't even really know the man that well, do you?"

"Well, no." He scooped up the quartered pieces and arranged them before washing his hands and filling the sinks with hot water and cleaning solutions. "But think about it, Faye. I could buy my seafood from a corporation and risk the food being freezer-burnt, rotten, or not coming at all. Or I could buy fish that came out of the ocean three hours ago, and help out a man who really needs it. Which would you rather do?"

She scowled at his aggravating humanitarianism. "Who cares, Jet? It's not your responsibility to go around saving everyone. This whole 'knight in shining armor' act is going too far, don't you think?"

He gave her a slightly peeved look. "Now what was _that_ for? Believe it or not, it doesn't hurt to actually help out other people, Faye. But anyway, we -" He caught a quick glimpse of her face and the sentence ended abruptly. "What's wrong with you?"

"Who's 'we'?"

"'We' is myself and Mak." His eyes slowly began to show comprehension of the underlying issue, and his mouth curled in an incredulous smile. "Faye Valentine, you're jealous!"

"And what's so funny about that?"

"Well –" He sobers up quickly, she thought. "Nothing, really. But I can't figure out _why,_ for the life of me. It's not like you couldn't get just about any man you looked at for more than two seconds."

Except the ones that I really wanted. They were always crazy about some other woman. She tried to change the subject, lamely. "Are you working the bar tonight?"

"Yeah, Mak's gonna be the manager for the next two days. Then I'm sending her on vacation for about a week and a half. She wanted to go someplace on Earth and just lay around, so I have to make sure of the hotel arrangements and get her paycheck forwarded." He looked up in surprise at Faye's exasperated sigh. "What now?"

"I was just thinking," she replied caustically, "that very few employers would bother themselves about their subordinates' vacation needs, or waste money by paying them while they weren't actually working." She didn't say anything else, but she didn't need to. The implied accusation was quite clear. Jet shook his head, dismayed at her sudden attack.

"Don't be jealous of Mak, Faye. Believe me when I say that woman works _hard._ For the first seven months that we were in business, she spent most of her time developing an inventory system that would work, so that I would know where in hell all that food was going. I can't tell you how many times she's slept here after working a late bar shift, balancing all the money, and then helping me getting things straightened out so I could open on time in the morning."

Faye's eyes flashed dangerously. "She's _slept_ here?"

Jet cursed himself upon hearing the wrath in her voice. _Damn it, I'm just making this worse!_ He tried one last time. "Yes, Faye, she's slept here. Because I wouldn't let her walk home by herself at 3 a.m. after she'd been helping me out in my own restaurant. I wouldn't be in business right now if she hadn't been there with me every step of the way. So when she wants to go on vacation, you're damn right I'm going to pay her. And I've given her a corporate card to use when she gets where she's going." He stopped setting up to look at her piercingly. "Some of us still believe in the power of gratitude, you know."

She winced, and he sighed silently, intensely relieved. _Bullseye._

There was no conservation between them until Mak returned, decked out in a light blue cotton blouse and black pants similar to Jet's. She made a face upon seeing the scene. "What are you two doin', playing Statue?"

"Huh?" Faye asked, bewildered.

Jet laughed. "She wants to know why we're not talking."

* * *

Author's Notes:

1. Whoops. I know that I promised Jet/Faye goodness this chapter, and I haven't delivered. But I wanted to give a little more information on the restaurant, and provide a little more back story on Mak, since so many of you seem to like her. So, things just got a little out of hand and I found myself with three enormous paragraphs on my hands in no time flat. Forgive me. ;;;

2. Chapter title comes from a song by Frida, one of the female members of ABBA. Although it wasn't what I originally wanted for the title (curse you, short-term memory!), it definitely struck me as appropriate, considering that it's the raving of a spurned and paranoid lover. And it's got a kick-booty beat.

3. Faye's age came about as a result of these calculations:

She's 17 when she originally is put to sleep as a result of her accident –

She sleeps 50 years and wakes up, making her 67 –

If she doesn't meet the Bebop crew immediately, possibly six months going by, she might be with the original crew at age 68 –

Most likely she spent a good year getting to know them, hence 69 –

And she's been looking for Spike for two years, which would make her 71.

These calculations are quite likely to be wrong. See if I care.

4. Senor Lopez's voice is based on the enunciation of a Brazilian gentleman that I know, with a little bit of an exaggeration. But if you have a problem understanding what's he saying, trying pronouncing it _exactly_ how it's spelled.

The Jet/Faye togetherness is coming. I promise! I promise! And thanks for all of the kind feedback so far!


	4. A matter of trust

The serving crew began to trickle in about 10 a.m., but Faye didn't notice. She had retreated back downstairs to hunt for a promised pair of sneakers. As she entered the bedroom, she ran straight into one of Jet's 'girls'.

The young woman seemed surprised, and slightly embarrassed. "I'm sorry, miss…I was just trying to take a nap."

"No, no…" Faye tried to set the girl at ease. "Mak told me that I could get some shoes in here."

"Oh…maybe she meant storage? I didn't see any shoes when I came in."

Faye shrugged. Mak hadn't sent her this way at all; she was simply trying to find a place to brood over her suspicions. "I guess so. What's your name?"

"I'm…Hannah," the girl said hesitantly.

Faye gave her a quick glance. Despite her outfit, which showed at least four times as much skin as it actually covered, this girl seemed quite shy and naïve. Most likely as a result of her silky brown hair, light green eyes and cherubic face. Very pretty. She extended her hand. "I'm Faye."

"Nice to meet you," Hannah said with a sheepish smile. "I wasn't making too much noise, was I? Did Big Poppa send you down here?"

Faye pretended ignorance. "No, why would he do that?"

"Oh, you must be new. I'm one of Big Poppa's girls. He lets us sleep in this room if we're not feeling too good, and he lets us order food with a discount."

"What do you mean, his 'girl'?"

Hannah's cheeks burned. "Um…he just…takes care of us, you know?" Her eyes clearly begged not to be pressed for a more detailed description, and Faye obliged, asking a related question. "How did you become his girl?"

"Well…he saw me on 9th and Thrushgrove Street one night, when it was really cold, and he just came up to me and asked me if I had eaten that day. And I thought he was a pimp, cuz he was…" Here Hannah blushed again. "…he was real smooth, you know? And then he brought me here, and let me order a free dinner. I thought for sure he was gonna want some. But he told me that he just wanted me to get something to eat." She stopped speaking for a moment and played with her well-lacquered nails. "He was so nice…I asked him if I could keep hanging around, cuz I was scared, you know? It's hard on the streets. Some of those guys are really bad. And he said I could as long as I didn't try to do any business in the restaurant."

Faye rocked back and forth. "Business…you mean, picking up guys, right?"

Hannah bit into her lip. Obviously, she hadn't quite accepted what she was doing as legitimate. "I…I just…it's so hard to get through college, you know? I'm the first person in my family to go. My parents didn't know that it would cost this much. They do what they can, but books and food add up after a while…" She looked at Faye with a small blaze of fire in her eyes. "But when I'm a doctor, I can forget about all of this. I can go wherever I want and never remember these days again."

Faye smiled at this singular hope. She had felt it keenly herself, and not all that long ago. Hers, however, had withered and died without so much as a fairy-tale ending to show for it. She encouraged Hannah nonetheless. "Well, hang in there, then."

Those pale green eyes shone, and Faye finally understood a little more where Jet was coming from. It really wasn't that hard to be nice.

* * *

She did indeed find a pair of skid-proof sneakers in one of the storage rooms, and as she was putting them on, Mak came marching down the hall. "Oh, Faye. You gonna work?"

"Yeah," Faye answered.

"All right, sounds good. You ever waited tables?"

"No."

"Well…no biggie. We got a lot of good servers here that can help train you. Unless you'd rather host or help out with the bar?"

"I'll host."

"Cool. All you need to know to host are our specials for the day, and where to seat people. Don't pile every customer in one server's section, that's a real good way to get 'em pissed off with you. Try to rotate and use the seating chart, it'll help. Today's soup is sliced beef and carrots, today's special is a dozen oysters for three wulongs. Don't worry, it's prolly written on the hostess stand already." Mak continued to rattle off various instructions as they proceeded to the large wooden podium near the door. "And this is Candy. Candy, Faye." The two women shook hands and Mak turned to leave. "She'll be working with you for the morning shift, Candy, so train her good, 'kay?"

"Sure," this new girl answered as her manager left. Faye gave her a good once-over. Deep chestnut brown hair, cut stylishly in layers that fell gracefully over caramel skin. Light hazel eyes. And just why in hell why was she suddenly so interested in the appearance of every female in this place? She dropped her gaze guiltily.

The morning passed without any major hassle, and close to three Candy said, "It's almost time for the night crew. I'm gonna order something and get outta here, and you should too." She strolled towards the bar, where Jet stood chatting lazily with some customers. He looked up immediately upon seeing them approach. "You two want lunch?"

"Sure," Candy said immediately. "Grilled seabass sandwich, no onions, side of remoulade."

"Girl, please." Jet rang her order in with the distracted air that suited experienced servers so very well. "You eat the same thing every shift. Aren't you ever going to eat something besides fish?"

"Can't afford filet mignon and rack of lamb on my paycheck," she snapped, prompting laughter from the regulars.

"At least get some oysters."

"I hate oysters."

"Try the soup, Candy. Bet you'll like it. I swear."

"No way," she sassed and headed for the kitchen. Jet smiled, amused by her antics. "Want some lunch, Faye?"

She ordered a dozen oysters steamed well and sat down at a cocktail table to await their appearance. As soon as he could break away from the chattering patrons, Jet emerged from behind the bar and went into the kitchen. She noticed this out of the corner of her eye as she toyed with a sugar packet.

A stoneware dish was placed in front of her shortly enough, holding twelve oysters that were obviously fresh from the steamer. Jet seated himself across from her. "How's your shift so far? Wanna switch over to the bar area?"

She gulped down a plump oyster. "Okay, and no, in that order."

"Ah, but you see, that wasn't really a question. We already have enough hostesses for the night. I actually do need you to help me in the bar."

She eyed him silently.

"My back-up bartender called in. Normally I wouldn't care, but it's oyster night."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I can't leave the bar to get anything when I run out. It'll be too busy. I need a back-up to run food to the cocktails and keep things stocked."

"A go-fer."

"Pretty much. Will you help me out, my dear?"

Other than having a ridiculous case of pride, there was no legitimate reason for her to say no. All the same, she was slow in answering, but Jet seemed satisfied. "Take your time and eat. You don't have to be back on the clock until 5."

* * *

Jet was right, once again; the night crowd was substantial, drawn by the prospect of cold beer and fresh seafood. Faye took notes on what they had sold out of ("86," he had explained), and what items needed regular replenishment: the cream base that provided bulk for the foamy drinks, domestic bottles of beer, because they were on sale, the more popular liqueurs, and of course ice. Suitably prepared, she occupied the rest of her time by running food after making a quick mental note of the order of the cocktail tables. To be sure, she made a few mistakes. A family of five with small children found themselves the surprised recipients of fifty hot wings and two pitchers of beer; an elderly couple clearly missing most of their teeth was brought two pounds of shell-on crab. But on the whole, people were understanding and very tolerant of her errors, and she felt as though she was progressing quite well. Jet was as calm as she had ever seen him, handling multiple drink and food orders with aplomb. He seemed to be quite in his element as he mixed and poured with ease.

As the evening toiled on, the clientele changed. Just as she asked a server what time it was and was informed "10:45", a group of ten young men showed up. They looked as if the majority of them had just turned 21, and a few of them appeared to be semi-drunk already. Most of them stared pretty hard at her. And for the first time in ages, Faye Valentine actually felt some level of vague discomfort as eyes crawled on her skin.

A hand on her shoulder nearly made her jump. Jet was leaning across the bar to get her attention. "Faye, would you mind getting that table's order? You don't have to take any orders for anything besides drinks and appetizers. I've just got my hands full for the moment."

She agreed before she realized that she had actually said _yes._ Cursing her inattention, she walked over to the noisy group and asked them for their orders. As expected, they wanted yet more beer. She began to card them, and the one closest to her said as he flashed a driver's license, "Hey, mama, I'm old enough to show you a good time, ain't I?"

Ignoring the catcalls and her own flaming cheeks, she continued on requesting ID from all ten before stuffing her notepad back in her apron. As she turned, she heard wolf-whistles, and again, those indistinct but unpleasant shivers went up her spine.

She stalked over to the nearest terminal and punched up an order for four pitchers of Miller Lite, drumming the fingers of her left hand against the lacquered wood while she waited for the confirmation screen.

"Those guys treatin' you shitty?"

Faye turned to see Mak. "Yeah."

"If you don't feel good about a table, Faye, you don't ever have to take them, even if they're in your section. You want me to handle 'em?"

"No." Faye snatched up her ticket as it printed with a whine. "I…just…"

Mak clapped her on her shoulder reassuringly. "Gotcha. Look, I'm right here if you need anything."

She walked away to check on the hostess stand, and for a moment, Faye hated her utterly, her poise, her calm, her charm. But just as quickly, the moment of piercing envy passed and she found herself standing on the left side of the bar, waiting on four pitchers of beer and ten mugs.

They came, and she went, reluctantly heading to the table. The guys were watching the game, but all eyes were turned on her as she drew nearer. She set her serving table down, and as she was distributing beer and mugs, a hand caressed the back of her thigh. She jumped back and dropped the fourth pitcher on the table, glaring angrily at the inebriated man. "What the hell is your problem?"

"Come on, baby," he said with a self-assured air. "You know you want some of this, don't –"

His sentence ended abruptly as a looming shadow fell over him. Jet glowered down at him. "Tony, haven't I told you before to keep your hands to yourself?"

The man sat back, trying to save face. "Hey, man. I'm just playing with her. Ain't nothing wrong with that, is there?"

"Play somewhere else," Jet snapped. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Tony looked flustered. His friends grew quiet, wondering what he would do. Faye stood by, until a hand plucking her elbow got her attention. She turned, even as Mak was pulling her away to the safety of the bar. "Getting' a little hot over there?"

"I think Jet's kicking that guy out," Faye said in a low voice.

"Yeah, he probably is. Tony thinks he's such hot stuff cuz his daddy owns two expensive complexes over in Neon. Jet's been threatening to ban him a lot lately."

"If he's rich, what's he doing in here?"

"He comes in here a lot cuz he's cheap as all hell, and he gives the servers a real hard time and tips like shit. He's gotten his lights punched out more than once. 'Bout a week ago he came in here and got in a fight and got his ass kicked, and he was tryin' to sue us because of it."

Faye scowled. "Why?"

"Jet was standing right there and didn't do nothing 'bout it. He says we were negligent. Problem was he started the fight. Anyway…" She stopped speaking as Tony muscled his way out, still trying to deflect embarrassment by telling his entourage that he didn't really want to eat here anyway. "Well, that's that. Go in the back and have a piece of key lime pie or something."

Obediently, Faye went, and tried to sort out how she felt while sitting against the shelf that held all of the to-go boxes. Was she mad? Oh hell yes. Humiliated? A little. But mostly, she felt powerless. It really stunk, this whole lack-of-confidence stuff.

"You all right?"

A familiar bald pate was peeking around the serving door. She mustered a tiny smile. "Yeah."

"The last hour's usually not real busy, you can knock off for the night if you want."

It only took her a moment to decide. "I'm not a complete invalid yet, Jet. I need practice, not babying."

"Relax, please. I'm not the bad guy here. I'm only trying to help." He looked at her for a few moments more, but when no answer came, he shook his head and let the door swing shut again. Walking back behind the bar, he began to remove errant beer mugs and dunk them in the hot water wash.

"She all right?"

He didn't look up at Mak. "She's pissed. I think she resents it when I try to help."

"She ain't got no problem with your help. Thing is, sometimes you mistake help with _carryin'._"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Please, fool, you ain't stupid. You know what I mean. You mean well, but you wanna _help_ folks so bad that you forget that they still gotta do it themselves, and you gotta stand back and watch, even if that means they screw up."

He stopped washing glasses, which was good; he had inadvertently washed the same one five times. "Why do all the women in my life say the same damn thing?"

"Cuz you ain't got it yet."

A grin began to break through the scowl. "Fine. While I learn my lesson, why don't you go run the labor report. We've got scheduling to do tonight."

"There ain't no 'we'. That's all _you._"

"Oh, but I can't. I have to break down the bar and check the front of the house out and make sure they didn't skip out on deep cleaning, remember?"

Mak sucked her teeth. "And why you so eager to do it tonight? You never wanted to do it before." She picked up a few pieces of ice and cocked her arm threateningly. "I think I'm bein' suckered."

"I've accused you of many things, but never stupidity. You're being suckered." He dodged as the melting ice flakes flew his way and walked off laughing, good humor completely restored.

* * *

Author's Notes:

1. So very sorry for how long this took. I had the idea in place, I knew exactly where I wanted it to go, and somehow I couldn't do it. Okay, that's not true. I actually had work to do. In a restaurant. That serves seafood. Surprise, surprise, surprise.

2. Chapter title is courtesy of the immortal Billy Joel; the scene where patrons are forcibly removed from an eating establishment is inspired by the video for "Meet Virginia" by Train.

And the promised Jet/Faye still has not manifested itself, even though it was supposed to this very chapter. But since the chapter ended just a little differently that I originally thought it would, the loving is postponed. Hopefully for not as long, though.

Is it already time for Chapter Five? My, my…


	5. Desperado

Having relieved herself of a mild bit of tension, Mak walked around the restaurant, making sure that her other employees weren't overloaded in their various sections. She then briskly returned to the kitchen, where Faye had retreated to mope.

"Faye," she said, not bothering to slow down as she went blazing on through the mass of bodies. "Come to the office for a minute."

Reluctantly, Faye made her way to the overheated cubby, where Mak waited for her. As soon as she entered, Mak nudged the door shut with her boot. "Okay. I'm gonna talk to you the same way I talk to any of my other employees, cuz you're mine for the night." She leaned in, seriousness written all over her features. "Listen, Faye. You do not ever –" She punctuated her statement with a sweep of the hand, "ever, _ever_ have to take shit. Not from anyone who works here, not from Jet's girls, and not from customers. Every manager who works here has kicked out a customer and told 'em not to come back. I've fired people for being too hard to work with. And you know Jet'll get rid of a girl who won't act right." Here Faye tried to speak, but Mak shushed her immediately. "Honey, if a table gets rowdy, I'll wait on 'em myself. They won't start shit with me, cuz I'll make them buy their food first, and then I'll kick 'em out in front of everybody. Now. You all right?"

Faye chuffed out a weak sob. "Yeah."

Mak patted her hand. "Hey. You know when I first started back at Seabreeze, I had some customers call me 'a fucking chink'? No other reason 'cept I had black hair and it was real long. Man, I went in the back and cried my eyes out. I tried to quit that night."

Faye winced, remotely stung by the slur. She had heard it herself more than once in her life. "Why?"

"Hell, the man was drunk, and mad because I wouldn't help him kill himself by givin' him more booze. But yeah, my manager went straight over to his table and told him that he wasn't welcome there anymore. If I remember right, dude was a pretty important politician too. Made an impression on me, that there's a point at which the customer is no longer right. Believe me, I'm pretty good at finding that point."

Faye didn't answer, staring at her hands. Mak waited for a few more seconds, then said, "I'm gonna make a couple of calls if Jet wants to know where I am. You gonna work these last thirty minutes, or you done?"

"You don't think Tony's waiting on one of us outside, do you?"

"I hope he's got better sense than that. There're cameras all over this place. Now, they ain't all real, but it's mighty hard to tell the difference between the plastic toys and the real deal."

The younger girl wrinkled her brow in a vain attempt to keep from smiling. "Fake cameras?"

"Yeah, there's about 20 cameras rigged up all around here, but only eight are actually recording something. I'm not even sure which eight they are, cuz Jet don't let me in the recording room. But since people know that there's surveillance, it cuts down on a lot of the nonsense. Less fighting, less stealing "

"Is that why Jet doesn't let the girls pick up guys in the restaurant?"

"Yep. There's a couple of cops in Vice who keep trying to shut this place down because of the girls. Any sort of crumb they could pick up about 'house of prostitution', they'd be on it like white on rice. Jet points out the cameras to all new hires and all new girls, and it keeps 'em in line. A couple of people don't like 'em, y'know, that whole 'invasion of privacy' deal. But I think that they do what they're 'sposed to do, keeping down problems. Y'know, someone tried to sue us not too long ago. The surveillance disks put a dent in his case real fast."

"Seriously? Why?"

Mak laughed and pulled down the shift change book, looking for anything that might need her authorization. "The guy said that he was being discriminated against because he was black. Problem was we had him on tape cussing out half the staff. Case didn't go past the pretrial hearing. It was pretty funny all the same, though. He had to pay our court costs _and_ listen to a lecture from the judge. Put some good bite marks on his ass. Hey, why'd you ask about Tony? You headed out?"

"Yeah." Faye pushed back her chair and stood. "I guess I'll get acquainted with this town."

"Hmmph. Don't stay gone too late, Jet'll come trackin' you down."

"I know." Faye took care to shut the door after she left.

"Faye." Mak opened the door again. "You going out dressed like that? You better put some pants on, it's cold outside."

* * *

Jet was taking the bar mats into the dish pit when Faye strode past him, decked out in a closely fitted pair of flared jeans and a stylish suede peacoat. "I see that you've been raiding Mak's closet."

"She lent me these."

"Did you tell her thank you?"

"As a matter of fact, I did. Is there another bar nearby?"

"There are about five if you get off the beach and head left. Maybe two if you go right." He dumped the wet retainers in the first sink and pushed past her, and she didn't know whether to be relieved that he wasn't interrogating her, or irritated that once again, he didn't seem to give much of a damn. The anger won out and she stalked off.

Mak was right; the night was achingly cold. Grateful for the thick woolen scarf that she had also been lent, she wrapped it loosely around her neck, stuffed her bare hands in her pockets, and trudged on. The constant lap of the waves seemed to echo the sound of her heels hitting the boardwalk, and she was glad when she finally got back onto the asphalt. She retraced her steps to the blue convenience store, which was closed and dark. A gust of wind made her stop and wrap her thin arms around herself, and she looked hesitantly in the direction of Neon.

She had no money. She had just barely enough presence of mind to bring her gun, and armed robbery wasn't on the agenda; tonight's _m.o._ was to get drunk. As charming as she could be, she got the distinct impression that she wouldn't be able to finagle free drinks out of the bartenders in the better bars. Shivering, she turned back into Sunset and walked down the wide avenue.

The first thing she noticed about the Sunset district was that it was dark. There were streetlights placed at regular intervals, and that was about it. There were no blazing electric signs to dazzle, no garish displays of twisted glass and heated elements. If Neon was meant to tempt the senses and wallets of the idle rich, Sunset was meant to appeal to the working class, who would hardly appreciate such frippery.

She walked several blocks past old warehouses and ugly factories that all looked alike in the gloom. Cars rolled past, their headlights blazing into her eyes until she saw purple spots. She stopped for a moment to clear her vision.

The spots eventually faded, and she could discern movement on the other side of the street. A woman, wearing a dress that didn't even reach the tops of her thigh. A prostitute.

One of Jet's girls?

Faye watched the woman strut over to the intersection and stand on the sidewalk, calling out boldly to the passing cars. Eventually one slowed, stopped, and after a short negotiation, the woman climbed in. The car roared off angrily, ignoring the red light, and she cringed. _Hannah does that…to get through medical school._

At the first sign that said "Bar and Grille" she turned in.

The promised bar was up a flight of stairs and to the right behind a smoked glass door. The air in the hall was thick with burning tobacco, but it did nothing to deter her from entering. She swung the door open and stepped through into a dim, crowded room, relieved to see other women. A room full of men simply wasn't the brightest prospect at the moment. She sidled up to the bar and flagging down the bartender, ordered a glass of Glenlivet Scotch. She watched as the older man poured two and a half ounces of golden liquid over ice cubes, inserted a cocktail straw and passed her the glass. She took it out, wanting to drink as quickly as possible; a straw would hinder her.

The liquor left a searing trail into her stomach. As soon as she could catch the man's eye again, she requested a second, downing it in much the same way. The people in the room talked and laughed and argued and danced and turned into mist that was swept out of the door a little bit at a time.

A little bit at a time. She had given her life away in huge chunks before she met Spike and Jet. Then she gave it away a little bit at a time. By this rate, she was overdrawn. There was no home, no dreams, no 'happily ever after', nothing. She laughed, bitterly. She had less than Hannah, who sold herself short now to attain a future goal.

"Well, hell," she snarled and savagely bit a chunk of ice. No plans and no resources didn't mean she wanted to live on borrowed pity. She was going to march right back to Jet and tell him that she was leaving. Sure, she had stayed a day longer than she had initially intended, but she would fix that. After just one more glass of scotch. She held up her glass for another refill and used the straw this time, drinking it down a little bit at a time.

* * *

Jet waved the last of the servers out of the door as he surveyed the deck. The navy blue umbrellas lay in a neat heap at the perimeter wall, the tables had been dutifully scrubbed down and the condiments sat in the rack near the door. Check. He entered the back room, which hadn't been swept very well, though in all fairness it was pretty hard to see when the lights were dim. Yelling for Mak to turn up the house lights, he picked up a broom and a dustpan and started from the far corner.

He was just finishing when she appeared near the bar, looking for him. "You. Phone call. Now."

Somewhat taken aback, he gave her a bemused glance. "Is it that bad?"

"It's about Faye."

No further explanation was required. He went behind the bar and punched the blinking extension button. "This is Jet."

"Hey, man, it's Brad." Bradley Young was the bartender at the Lost Cause. He and Jet had a casual acquaintance and because he was situated more closely to the part of Sunset that housed derelicts and streetwalkers, he was in a good position to keep a lookout for any of Jet's girls. "Look, there's a cute little number in here who keeps mumbling your name. She don't look familiar, but I thought I might as well call you as not. She's got purple hair and –"

"I know her. I'll be right there."

"Hurry, man. She's pretty drunk and she keeps throwing herself on this guy with green hair. I'll try to hang onto her, but if she walks out the door with him –"

"I got it, Brad." He hung up, trying to gauge whether he was annoyed or surprised, but nothing came to mind save a sense of urgency. He picked up the receiver and called the office.

"What, Jet?"

"I'll be back. Don't worry about the paperwork. Go home."

"I'm almost done. Got any notes you want me to leave for the next manager?"

"Nah."

"Is the front clean?"

"Not really. Don't worry about it. I'll sweep it myself. Go home, Mak."

"I'm not done yet. You better go get that girl."

He hung up again.

* * *

The cold stung his soft earlobes, but Jet was hardly aware as he marched purposefully down the dark blocks. _If she's done something crazy, I swear I might just let her handle it herself._ He wasn't even convincing himself, so he let the thought go as the rusted "Lost Cause" marquee loomed up ahead.

Brad looked relieved to see him coming through the door. "Thank god you're here, man. She's about to lift off."

"Thanks," Jet answered, whether in relief or disgust, he didn't care to say. Faye was yelling obscenities while a lanky guy with shaggy green hair tried to dislodge her frantic clutch. He didn't look much like Spike, but anyone in Faye's case could hardly be expected to know the difference, and she was in pitiable shape, indeed. "I'll take her, if you don't mind."

"Get her _off_ me, man," the fellow grunted.

* * *

As difficult as Jet had found it to make her let go of the man and get her out of the door, he found it almost exactly twice as hard to hold her upright when she went lax in his arms, and then to restrain her when she had a brief flash of sobriety that lapsed into anger. "You fucking dick, you took Spike away from me again."

"That wasn't Spike, Faye."

She swung at him; clumsily, but with enough force to sting if it connected. He flinched and snapped his head away, but held her firmly. "I am so SICK of you! Who do you think you are, some sort of superhero social worker? Why do you always think you have to save me? Why can't you just leave well enough alone?"

He stopped, breathing a cloud of hot vapor that hung starkly in the black night. She stopped too, growing chilly now that she wasn't having a fit. "Look at yourself. You call this 'well enough'? Be glad I saved you from a one night stand with a dope dealer. Come on, since you can stand now."

"Be glad," she spat. "Be glad that you're a damned coward who lives vicariously through teenage whores! Be glad that you don't have the balls to face up to when you were wrong! Hell of a lot to be glad for, Jet!"

He stared her down so hard that she could feel herself wilting under his gaze, but she had faced his anger before, and had yet lived. Besides, if he still could get angry in the old way, it proved that he wasn't so saintly after all…

The sound of his shoes fading snapped Faye out of her reverie. He had gone nearly two blocks alone by the time she caught up again. Panting, but antagonistic, she asked him smugly, "Now who's running away?"

"I am," he answered unexpectedly. "Because I refuse to play head games with a little girl who's jacked up on too much liquor and permanently stuck in a time-warp. But she's too busy being the spoiled, selfish person that she raised herself to be to see that life moved on. So I'm going to go home, and I'm going to let her go wherever she wants. Even if that wherever leads her straight into the bottom of a bottle and into the bed of a complete stranger who just so happens to have green hair, because I'm really tired of picking up her pieces."

She finally managed to slap him. Right across his scarred eye. He finally lost his patience, and grabbed her. The flesh hand caught her wrist in a grip that cut off the circulation, and the metal arm clamped down so quickly that her other arm was pinned to her side.

They stood like this for a long moment. His look of deep-rooted hurt was not lost on her, nor did he miss the mortification that made her cheeks hot. They had both gone too far, and they both knew it very well.

He felt her shivering, and he let her go, expression softening into the pity that she had seen too often in the past three days. "Do you really think that I wanted Spike to die, Faye?"

She blinked. That _had_ been the thought rattling around ceaselessly, but upon hearing it spoken aloud, it felt wrong, cruel. Her voice came out little more than a whisper. "Why didn't you stop him, Jet? Every other time, you'd yell…and he'd leave…and he'd come back. But that last time, it was like…you gave up on him. You finally cut him loose. Jet, didn't you see you were about all that was holding him back? He…he _needed_ you. Needed you to keep him stable and sane, and you just turned around and let him walk out to die."

He shook his head. "Come on, Faye. We're about five blocks from the store. It's too cold out here."

"No," she said, tears beginning to leave tracks on her face that rapidly cooled and tormented her. "Tell me right here and right now, why."

"Why? I'll tell you why." He walked away and turned to the right; they were at the intersection with the blue convenience store. Cursing his ability to manipulate her, she followed. "Because Spike had been dead forever, Faye. Because the only time I really saw him wake up out of his stupor was when Julia was involved." He didn't see her flinch and stiffen. "Because every time that he heard her name, he went tearing off the ship the way that you would and vanish for days, and come back like you did, all beaten up and drained. She was like a chronic illness in his system – she would flare up and make him go nuts, and it'd pass and he'd suffer through the aftereffects alone, and he'd heal up enough to drag his ass around without walking wounded, and just when I thought he was over it, someone would whisper her name in a toilet on Pluto and he'd lose his damned mind all over again." Their feet no longer met the sturdiness of asphalt, but the uncertainty of sand. Faye stumbled, immediately found herself steadied in a muscular arm, and silently thanked Jet by way of a glance.

He missed it. "He was running on empty the whole time I knew him, and that last time he came back, the tank was dry. Nothing left. He was about to spontaneously combust. And I could've kept him around, cooled him off, convinced him not to go once again – but it would have been a matter of time. Like I said, she was a disease, and he was in the terminal stage. Keeping him around would have been like giving a pint of blood to someone who was hemorrhaging a quart a minute – noble, but futile."

By this time they were at the door. Jet fumbled with the keys, but it creaked and he stepped back, forcing Faye back a step as well. Mak looked out, simultaneously relieved and furious. "Damn both of you to the east end of west hell, it's almost 2 a.m. and I got to get home! Would you get in here already, it's cold as polar bear shit!"

"I told you to go home," Jet said with a grin as he allowed Faye to enter first.

"Shut up," Mak bit out. "You know damn well I wasn't going nowhere 'til y'all came back. And you, missy," she said, turning on Faye, "didn't I tell ya he was gonna come after yer ass if you didn't come back quick enough? Well, you can handle him now, I'm goin' home." She hurriedly buttoned up her heavy woolen overcoat. "I'll see you tomorrow night, girl, if he lets you live that long." She tugged the door back open, clearly in a hurry. "G'night, folks."

* * *

About forty minutes and a hot bath later, Faye sat in the beautiful little pastel bedroom, clad in the pink pajamas, thinking hard about what Jet had said. Her mind galled her on one point, and she wanted to clear it up. Which meant of course, getting information that would only make her fret. She opened the door and looked out.

The hall was pitch black, but she knew this ship too well to be disturbed by that. She crept down the corridor with her fingers skimming the wall for balance. Soon enough she saw a thin line of light near the floor, and she walked up to the door with a severe case of apprehension.

Before she could knock, Jet's bass rumbled from the inside of the door, "Come in, Faye."

So she did.

His room was not suprisingly as masculine as the other room was feminine. The first thing that she noticed was the wood that comprised the bed, the dresser, the closet doors and the desk; it appeared to be cedar. It went well with the dark green quilt that covered the bed.

Jet sat at the desk itself, looking over different business letterheads. He seemed quite engrossed, and didn't look up as she timidly seated herself at the foot of the bed.

She looked around. There were multiple prints of trees that covered the walls. Some were photographs, others were paintings. She saw and admired an India-ink likeness that appeared to have been done by Jet himself. Also not surprisingly, they all appeared to be bonsai trees.

He finished reading the letter in his hand in silence before setting it down to his left and swiveling in his chair to face her. "Have you forgiven me for letting him go?"

She waved her hand impatiently. "Listen. Did Spike ever talk to you about Julia?"

"Occasionally."

"Did he ever say that he loved her?"

"Not in so many words, but yes, I got that strong impression."

She slumped into herself, trying not to break down on the spot. When she got the courage to lift her head again, he hadn't budged.

"Y'know, I…I tried to tell him once…and he just gave me that damned self-satisfied smile, and we ended up fighting, and I swore that I'd never tell him after that. And every time that I thought better of it and wanted to, he'd give me that smart-ass grin, and it…" Her chest heaved. Jet stood, bridged the distance between them with one step. He sat down beside her. "…it just never got said. In all the insults and quips, somehow telling someone that I cared about them wasn't very important. And I swear…" She choked as a sob fought to get out, "…Jet, if he would have turned around, just one more time, I swear I would have told him."

He took her hand again, so softly that her skin burned beneath his touch, and wrapped his other arm around her waist again, as delicately as a silken thread. "Until he smiled, Faye. And even if you had, he'd still have gone, and you'd still be here today wondering why, just like I do."

The sobs finally broke free, and she tipped her head back and screamed, trying to give vent to a festering wound that she had never had heart enough to acknowledge before. Jet, to his credit, didn't try to restrain her wild grief, holding on to her with the lightest of grasps. She wailed and she spasmed and she wept. And she wondered why, just like he did.

She opened her eyes to find her face pressed into Jet's shoulder, her senses overwhelmed. She pulled away from him, enough to sit up, eyes bloodshot, cheeks puffy and streaked. "I…" she began falteringly through a congested nose. "I loved him, you know."

Jet looked down at her, and gently wiped up the tears that were collecting beneath her chin. "I know. I probably loved him more than you did."

* * *

Author's Notes:

Awww, poor Faye. Seriously folks, that's about the closest to a real Spike/Faye you'll ever get outta me. If you can believe it, I spent the vast majority of the time writing that first particular paragraph of dialogue between Mak and Faye. Everything else pretty much flowed into place over the course of about two days. Yay for mania/insomnia!

Thanks for all of the sweet reviews! I've got a couple of different ideas for chapter six that I really want to incorporate, so it may be another month before I can make it work. But it'll be piping hot for you once I can work it out!

p.s. Chapter title is of course by the Eagles.


	6. Sittin' on the dock of the bay

The morning dawned, warm and hazy like an uncertain cloud. Faye woke up in the room that she had spent the wee hours in, huddled in a ball on top of the bed. There was no sign that Jet had slept there, no masculine scent covering the pillows or the blanket, not so much as an indentation from a solid body. Her eyebrows quirked.

The sound of water washing against the ship was lulling, and she lay still, calmed and soothed by the monotonous churning waves and the wild sound of the wind blowing inland. After several minutes she stirred, practically on her way back to sleep. She couldn't figure out why she felt so drowsy until she realized that there was almost no noise. There was no truck delivering fresh seafood to the building, there were no servers scurrying around on the upper levels trying to set up. There was no Mak, bellowing cheerfully down the hall. There was only the wind and the waves.

She wandered out of the room, still wearing the pajamas. In her desire to find out why things were so peaceful, it completely slipped her mind to take them off. So eventually she made it onto the deck, blinking in the sunlight and wiggling her toes against the hardwood floor. The smell of sea salt was pervasive, filling her nostrils and making her heart pound. It smelled bewitchingly like clean light and cool mist. The lonely cry of seagulls overhead filled her with nostalgia, and she let her head drop back, breathing deeply.

When she exhaled and straightened her back, she finally saw Jet clinging to the wooden dock, waist deep in the water. His hair, moist from the constant spray of the ocean, lay thickly along the nape of his neck. The dark curls that covered the remainder of his body stuck to his glistening skin. As she watched, he let go of the pier and glided into the water backwards, leaving behind a smooth ripple. The air suddenly felt quite hot, despite a constant breeze.

She drifted over to the edge of the deck and slowly crawled over the divider, seating herself on the topmost rail. Her eyes searched for a lean body under the surface of the water. The wind blew her hair in her face and she swatted at it, annoyed.

"I didn't expect you to be up this early," a voice beneath her rumbled.

She was so startled that she lost her balance and pitched forward. Jet sprang up and steadied her, by placing his metal hand firmly against her stomach. She mumbled a quick 'thanks' and hurriedly scooted herself back, holding onto the bars with both hands. He laughed at her sudden coyness. "Don't break your wrists, Faye."

"Do you always go swimming in the morning?" she asked.

"Regularly enough," he answered, pulling himself halfway out of the water and resting himself on the deck the way one would rest against the edge of a pool. "It's very quiet around here this time of morning. Quite relaxing."

"Wouldn't the bay be dirty?"

"They don't allow dumping because they want the natural wildlife to keep living here. The water's so clean, it's like glass. You can see all the way to the ocean floor." He offered her a hand. "Why don't you come in?"

"I don't have a swimsuit."

"Didn't stop me."

Her face flamed at the prospect. "Jet Black, are you proposing that I go skinnydipping?"

"You mean you've never been?" The sun beat against his back, drying the beads of water that slowly trickled down to his…no! "It feels great. The water's warm and the wind feels nice. Come on, hop in."

"I'll be naked! Everyone can look!"

"So who's here to see you, for goodness' sake?" He _was_ right; it was eerily quiet. She could just barely make out voices from several blocks away, but it seemed as though no one at all was around this part of the water. And if anyone were to come, her pajamas were right there.

But I don't want to be naked next to Jet Black!

"Maybe later," she said in a non-committal sort of tone. He shrugged, pushed backwards, and a moment later she heard a "sploosh" and watched as a familiar ripple marred the surface. The wind whipped her hair into her eyes again, making them water. As she fought to remove the silky strands from her tearing eyes, she felt herself fall forward, and in overcorrecting, she went into the bay backwards.

Immediately she noticed that Jet was right, of course. The water was disconcertingly warm, and unnaturally clear. Fish darted away from her as she pushed back towards the surface. She popped out, gasping and furiously pushing her wet hair back from her face. Jet's laughter rang in her ears.

"Told you to get undressed first. Now your nighties are all wet."

"So they are," she snapped. She waded towards the dock as quickly as she could, cheeks burning. The sound of rippling water echoed in her ears, warning her that Jet was right behind her. She scrambled onto the rough, hot wood, stripped off the clothing that was now sticking to her body, and flung the pink lace onto the ground.

Jet came up to the dock to gaze up at the wondrous sight of Faye clad solely in a pair of bikini underwear. His eyes widened appreciatively, but he contented himself with saying, "You should put a rock on top of that stuff so it doesn't blow away."

She shrugged and stared down at her toes. He swam back and made room for her. "Come on in. Surely there's enough room for both of us to swim around."

The invitation seemed reasonable enough, and so, not without some misgivings, she allowed herself to be coaxed back into the bay. The water lapped greedily against her skin, clinging to every curve. The wind vainly attempted to blow her wet hair around, but the damp strands stuck to her forehead, her cheeks, her neck. Jet was charmed. "Wanna race out to the sandbar?"

She mumbled something that he couldn't hear, so he moved a little closer, not noticing how a flush of crimson lit up her cheeks. "Faye, what's wrong?"

"I don't really know how to swim," she said reluctantly.

"You're kidding."

"I'm not kidding."

"Guess you'll have to hop on my back then!" He grabbed her and swung her behind him effortlessly, picked her up by the thighs and wound her legs around his waist. "Hang on!" And before she could find breath enough to protest, they were off.

Jet swam underwater, surfacing only to breathe. This left Faye to cling to his back with her legs and ride in silence as he glided along easily. She wanted to hold his shoulders, but the motion of his strokes didn't make that a promising option and she didn't dare to hold on to anything behind her. She sat up as best she could and made do. Sometimes he swam lower and she sank to the point of submerging, but just as rapidly he would rise to gulp a breath, and she rose along with him, naked torso covered in gooseflesh as the mild breeze struck her wet skin. They reached the sandbar quickly at this rate, and he lowered her onto the formation as he caught his breath.

They were nearly 100 yards from the shore. The ship and its surroundings were in plain view when she turned to the north. But to the south lay a richly dyed expanse of water. No boats sailed on it, and although gulls flew overhead, there was nowhere for them to land. It looked endless and wild, and filled her with wanderlust. It was the urge to be roaming.

The sound of Jet's panting reminded her that she had already stayed two days longer than she had intended to. Was she going to stay just long enough to make him care again, only to leave? _It'd be just like old times then,_ she mused sardonically.

"You ready to go back?"

She nodded and tried to climb on his back again, but he gently wrapped her arms around his neck from the front. "Hold on," he told her as he pushed off and swam backwards.

Her breath stuck in her throat. Was it somehow possible that she was pressed skin to skin with Jet Black in an almost nude state? She looked at his face, but he seemed relaxed, as if he was just out for an early swim and she just happened to be lying on top of him as he did so. If there were anxious feelings about their state, they seemed to be hers alone. _His_ mind was engaged elsewhere.

The sun was warm on her back. With her head lying on his chest, she could feel Jet's heartbeat as it pounded beneath his skin. She closed her eyes and listened to the burble of the waves, the whistling from the wind and a steady, if rapid, pulse.

"Faye," Jet said in a voice strained with exertion. "Don't fall asleep. I don't want to dive for you when you fall off."

She nodded and pushed herself into a sitting position. The ship was much closer now.

He didn't speak again, and shortly afterwards they reached the dock. As she slid off his torso and reached for the ladder, the glint of Jet's metal arm caught her eye. She pointed at it. "I wouldn't think that you could submerge one of those."

"You couldn't. At least, not the model I had before. This is an upgrade, with a sealed circuit box."

"A new arm," she murmured.

"I can feel with it, you know."

"I didn't know."

He reached out for her, running the very tips of his fingers along her arm and making her skin prickle. "You've got goosebumps," he said in a husky voice. "Any reason why?"

Faye stood immobile, trembling. His hand trailed down to her slim wrist before she could find strength to speak. She opened her mouth, but nothing would come out beyond a squeak. He seemed amused.

"Can you feel this?" she finally managed, as she stroked her hand up his arm. It felt warmer than flesh ought to, and so rigid – not the taut strength of muscle and sinew, but the unyielding composition of circuitry and wires. It puzzled her, and she caressed it, trying to understand how this piece of machinery could transmit feeling.

He didn't answer, but the flush that was spreading over his face told her. Suddenly bashful, she let go of him. "Can you teach me how to swim, Jet?"

He grinned at the abruptly chosen topic, and picked her up bodily. "First thing you have to learn to do is float. Don't thrash, now." He held her loosely as she began to panic. "Remember, I'm not going to let you drown, so just listen to me."

She did her best to listen to _him,_ and not the inner turmoil that kept insisting that she was going to sink. Before too long, she felt slightly more confident, and his grip became even more remote. She turned onto her back, noticing with some amusement that the fat in her chest always bobbed to the surface. Jet perceived this as well. Dipping his metallic hand into the water, he slowly spread a handful of liquid over her skin.

Her muscles knotted as her heart thundered against her chest. "Jet – "

"The other hand's beneath your back," he said softly, and it was so. But she wasn't afraid of drowning; she feared what would happen if she allowed him to continue arousing her. And she had been so sure that he felt indifferently!

"Just relax, okay? You're doing fine." His fingers pushed the puddle into beads, and those shining droplets rolled off her stomach and back into the ocean. He picked up another handful of liquid sunlight and swirled it against her belly.

A familiar tingle warned her that her nipples were growing erect. It could hardly be helped, with the wind blowing against her wet skin. But her surprise was nothing less than immense when Jet caught her to him with both hands and in the same motion, closed his mouth over the peak of her breast.

The sound of her own cry woke her up.

* * *

Jet was walking slowly in the direction of his room when he heard a moaning sob, a yell, and several incoherent curses, in that order. A rueful grin slowly curled his lips. "Guess _someone's_ awake."

* * *

He peeked in the door to see an infuriated Faye pounding hell out of his pillows, and shook his head. Women! Who could understand 'em? He cleared his throat and she turned to look at him, her violet hair messy and damp. Her jade eyes were flashing; her cheeks were smudged with pink. Her lips, for once free of lipstick, were swollen; she had just stopped biting them. One strap of her pajama top had fallen from her shoulder, leaving a red streak against pale skin. Her pants were the obvious victim of a static electricity attack as they adhered to her slim legs.

She was beautiful.

A silly grin broke out on his face, and he lost his train of thought, opting instead to wave to her and murmur, "Good morning," before heading back the other way.

She emerged from the downstairs hold later rather than sooner. Jet had enough time to make coffee and toast and nearly finish reading the paper before she dragged herself upstairs. At the woebegotten expression she had plastered on her face, he could hardly keep from laughing aloud. "What's wrong, Faye?"

She didn't answer, choosing to sear him with a stare. He shrugged and offered her the remainder of the buttered bread and a hot mug. Faye ate ravenously, scattering crumbs in the process and reminding him entirely of a certain red headed girl. "Hey."

She looked up, a smudge of strawberry jam staining her chin. Never before had Jet longed for a Polaroid camera so much. "You wanna do something with me today?"

The expression on her face startled him; it was highly reminiscent of a thundercloud. "It doesn't involve a swim in the bay, does it?"

"What!" He gulped down the rest of his coffee. "Heavens no. Have you seen that bay, woman? It's filthy. I wouldn't dream of swimming in it."

She muttered something that he couldn't hear. Assuming that he wasn't supposed to hear it, he continued, "I was thinking more along the lines of a long drive. And maybe a picnic if you got hungry."

"Sure," she answered, morosely. He shook his head and reached out for the empty plate. "God, Faye. Try not to sound so excited."

She hadn't heard. She was staring, very hard, at his metal hand as he used it to draw the porcelain dish towards himself. "Come on, now. You _do _remember that I have a metal hand, right?" He flexed it for her benefit.

"Is it waterproof?" she asked gruffly.

"Yeah." His confusion was at an all-time high.

Her fingers extended slowly, grazing the steel tendons. Jet felt his mouth go cottony, and he swallowed nervously. His other hand, which was holding the coffee mug, began to shake.

Faye touched his arm, curiously, shyly. She lifted her gaze, and their eyes locked as she stroked the raised metal once more, twice more. Her voice was no more than a whisper. "Can you feel that?"

"Yeah."

Inexplicably timid again, she withdrew and slipped off the stool, fleeing down the stairs. "I'll be up in a minute."

Jet nodded three times before he realized that she was gone. And he had spilled his coffee all over the bar.

* * *

Author's Notes:

Well? Well? Did you folks like the J/F action? Oh wait, it was just a DREAM! --;;; Who hasn't had a dream so wonderful or so moving that you nearly cried when you had to wake up? Anyway, yes, I know that was a very mean tease. But now that it's out of the way, we can move along to the real deal! Chapter title is courtesy of Otis Redding.


	7. My best friend's girl

* * *

When she did come back upstairs, Jet was nowhere to be found. Undeterred, she sat patiently on a stool until he came out of the kitchen, swinging a wicker basket. "Oh, there you are. Grab a bottle of Riesling and some wine glasses, and we'll be all set." 

"How about a fifth of Jagermeister and some shot glasses?"

He smirked, setting the basket down and adjusting his shirt. "Whatever works for you, missy." After opening the basket and rummaging for a few moments, he settled his gaze back on her. "You look cute. Are you planning to wear real shoes?"

"Do you think that I'll need them?" Her outfit was simple; a powder blue baby-doll tee and white denim shorts. Out of premonitory fear due to her odd dream, she had worn a two piece bikini underneath. She realized that Jet was staring at it, and struck with self-consciousness, she began to fiddle with the strings.

"You going to tan?"

"Well, no…"

"Never mind. You and Mak wear the same size shoes, right? You could borrow her sandals, I think."

* * *

Faye squirmed against the warm leather of the car seats. The sun blazed down upon them, making her very grateful that they were in a convertible. This car, though quite ancient, had been kept in pristine condition, from its chrome details to the obnoxious fiberglass wing on the back. A 'spoiler', he had called it. When she asked what purpose it served, he shrugged and turned up the radio.

The car took a route that led northwards out of Thoracia and into the verdant countryside. On both sides of the path, huge trees entwined their branches to create an organic vaulted ceiling. They drove on, the engine's purrs falling heavy against the grand silence of the woods.

The trees of the area were in full riotous bloom. Their petals fell delicately and were blown away in the car's wake as Jet continued down the road. Faye looked up, entranced, as the canopy overhead showered silken petals against her face. A full, wildly painted blossom fell into her lap and she clutched at it, delighted. "Did you know these trees did that?"

"Yup," Jet said, expressionless.

"You drove this car on purpose."

"You're brilliant, Miss Valentine." A fresh breeze took the flower right out of her lap and hurled it through the air. Before she could shriek in dismay, it spun about giddily and flung its golden spores every which way. She squealed in childish excitement. "Jet, did you see that?"

"Yep." Still deadpan.

"I suppose you knew those flowers did _that,_ too."

"Did I mention that you're brilliant, Faye?" The forested area moved by at a brisk pace as they entered a meadow, and passed the back side of a subdivision and some random outlying properties. She stared hard. The wealthy neighborhood that she had lived in as a child suddenly came to mind. "Those houses are gorgeous."

"It's the Hialeah district. Most people who live there are bankers, realtors, doctors or lawyers. A few school administrators as well. I think that the houses start in the $350s." He rattled it off automatically, as if he were a tour guide. Faye looked at him sharply to see if he was mocking her, but he didn't appear to be so much merry as distracted. With a sigh, she faced the front and plopped down in the seat.

Jet watched her from the corner of his eyes as she swung her legs back and forth, just like a discontented child, and he fought hard to keep a straight face. No matter how much makeup she applied or how much liquor she consumed or how far up she pushed her chest, she was still, in many ways, a seventeen-year-old girl. Coated in a lacquer of false jading, always trying to look more grown-up than she was, still gangly in some areas while other areas grew as ripe and luscious as fresh melons –

"Jet!" Her voice snapped him back to the world and he suddenly realized that not only were there other cars on the road, but that he was about to pass the turn. Slamming on the brakes and yanking hard on the wheel, he was successful not only in making a hard left at 45 mph, but also in melting rubber from the tires and raising a tornado's cloud of dust. They began to head west, down a back road.

"You didn't hear a word I've said, did you?" Faye demanded as he began to actively look for Thorne's Orchard. There was a large and spreading pear tree about half a mile into the property that he had claimed as his own personal space, and hopefully it would be free today. But if the agitation in his immediate vicinity was any indicator, he might not make it there alive. "Damn it, Jet, would you stop ignoring me!"

"I'm not ignoring you," he answered, but he didn't look at her. The turn was just ahead and cautiously, he braked and eased to the right without the theatrics of his previous turn. A dim part of his brain wondered if anything in the picnic basket had broken. Sandwiches covered in hard liquor just weren't his style. "I just haven't been here for a few months and I wasn't entirely sure where I was going." The tollbooth loomed ahead and he fumbled for a few coins in the change holder. Finding none, he finally spared her a glance. "Faye, give back the change."

She scowled and her cheeks flushed, but she handed over the three wulongs in change that she had swiped. Quickly calculating how much he needed, Jet dropped the rest back into the plastic compartment. _Old habits die hard, I guess._ He tossed the coins into the basket as they rode on by without stopping. The holographic gate vanished before their eyes and he continued into the park.

"That gate was just an illusion?"

"I've seen people wreck their cars on it, so I'd venture to say 'no'."

* * *

Despite the tumultuous ride there, luck was with him; the pear tree stood vacant and welcoming. Its shade was so intense as to make the grass beneath appear black from a distance. Jet drove the car under the very outskirts before sliding into neutral and applying the parking brake. Satisfied, he opened the door and looked around the area. "Would you mind grabbing the basket and that blanket, honeybunch?"

"Sexual harassment," Faye answered in a stern tone, but she flipped her seat forward and pulled the two items from the rear of the car.

"I wasn't aware you were familiar with the term."

"It's not one of my personal favorites." The basket was quite laden. Struggling, she lugged it along as best she could, nearly stumbling twice before she reached the base of the tree. She scanned the area for a smooth spot in order to lay the blanket down. Finding one between two large and protruding roots, she shook the checkered blanket twice before allowing it to drift to the ground.

An attempt to unpack the basket was met with a rebuff. "I'll do that. Why don't you look around the park for a bit before we eat?"

"Too hot," she murmured, and plopped down in the grass. The blades were thick and cool on her skin. Running a hand through the foliage, she came across a warm, oblong form. A pear. Her fingers closed on her prize. She closed her eyes and brought it near her nose, inhaling deeply.

The soft rustling in the immediate area stopped. "Don't ruin your appetite with that."

"I'm only going to smell it." Its skin was smooth, its scent, rich and sweet. She rubbed the fruit against her parted lips, almost kissing it.

The sound of crunching grass made her open her eyes. Jet hovered over her, an expression of cheerful disdain evident. "Just make sure you bite on the side without the worm holes, okay?"

"What!" Jumping to her feet, she flung the pear as far away as she could. Jet howled with laughter as she unceremoniously wiped her mouth and spat repeatedly, a stark change from her earlier semi-erotic behavior. "Faye Valentine, you are entirely too gullible. The food's ready." He gestured in the direction of the blanket. "After you, my lady."

"Wait a minute!" She glared up at the man towering above her. "You tricked me?"

He didn't answer, but his broadening grin told her all. Furious, she cast around for a missile to throw at him. By the time she found a few pears lying on the ground, he was out of sight. Fuming in the wake of her impotence, she tossed the unripe fruit to the side and approached the blanket, but a fleshy thud and an "Ow!" made her start.

Jet emerged from a prone position in the grass, rubbing his head. Apparently she had hit him inadvertently while throwing away the pears. He smiled ruefully at her wicked grin. "Let's just call it square, shall we? Do you like roast beef?"

* * *

"How's the potato salad?"

"Great." She savored the last of her wine, extending her glass when Jet suggestively shook the bottle. "Your recipe?"

"Nah. Mak's grandmother's. We use the base – the celery and mayo and spices – for about three different salads in the restaurant. Remind me when we get back into town and I'll make Waldorf salad for you."

"Waldorf? You mean that old hotel from way back when?"

"One and the same." He examined a piece of pumpernickel that lay in his hand, the final sorrowful remains of a roast beef hoagie piled with all the trimmings. Content, he stuffed it in his mouth. "You know, in its day, it was the equivalent of La Maison Vert."

"Wow." Satiated, she lay back and stared up. The splay of branches and twigs against cloud and sky fascinated her.

Jet settled next to her, his nearness startling her momentarily. His voice was rough, low. "Did you ever make pictures out of clouds when you were little?"

"No." The green sunlight splashed warm on her cheeks and caressed her in its softness. The air was heavy with the scent of baking grass, ripe pears and sweet nectar. Lazily, she turned her head to look at him. He was propped on one elbow, staring down at her. "Look at that one," he commanded, pointing.

She looked. "The long one?" It was milk spilled on the counter, whipped cream melting on a cake, cotton balls stretched out long and thin.

"No, no. The tiny one that looks like a triangle." She craned, squinting. "See how it's just barely touching the tips of the branches? Doesn't it remind you of the peak of a mountain?"

The cloud shifted and scrunched. She lay back again, relaxing. "It's a butterfly trapped in a spider's web."

"No," he said, voice little more than a rumble. "It's my soul up there."

A derisive snort. He looked at her, but she had closed her eyes. Her dark hair scattered over her pale skin, giving her an impish look. Jet smiled. "Playing possum, I take it."

"It's my favorite game."

"Undoubtedly." He stood, stretched languorously, and began to pack the basket once again. The sunshine had inexplicably grown dim, and the clouds had gone from white and fluffy to sullen gray, the very edges trimmed in black. It meant rain.

Faye shifted, shivering against the sudden chill in the air. She sat up, gooseflesh breaking out on her slim arms, and looked around. Jet had nearly finished getting everything back together, and she scrambled off the blanket, shaking it out quickly and rolling it up. She was on her feet, quilt in tow, by the time he had popped the trunk.

After all had been packed away, and a scan made of the area, Jet climbed in and started the ignition. He pressed an unassuming button on the dashboard and continued to make ready to leave. Suddenly he stopped, and punched the button pointedly. Nothing happened. He turned sharply to look at the rear of the car while holding the button down with his thumb. Faye watched, mystified. "What?"

He looked at her, the mien of his face frustrated, but resigned. "The top's stuck."

"What?"

"The top's stuck," he repeated, as if she hadn't heard the first time.

She gaped, gripped with alarm. "It's going to rain! Isn't there anything you can do to pull it out?"

He sighed, shaking his head. "It's compressed between the back seat and the trunk. And anyway, the whole thing's automated. If any of the retracting motors stop running or get stuck, the roof won't come out or retract. I could try to figure out what's wrong with it, but I might break something trying, and I'd rather not. This isn't my car."

"Mak's."

"Correct." The engine roared to life as he depressed the clutch and shifted into first. "This car is her baby. She'd kill me if I broke anything."

Dismayed, Faye slumped back into the seat, watching the pear tree in the rear view mirror as it slowly began to recede. And it had been such a nice day up to this point…

* * *

Before they made it back to the entrance of the park, it had begun to rain.

Jet put the windows up in a futile attempt to lessen the impact of the drops, but before three minutes had passed they were both soaked through. Faye sat in a growing puddle, silent and miserable. He was equally quiet, eyes focused on the muddy road ahead.

Eventually, they ran into traffic, and he slowed the car, downshifting until he could put it into neutral. He pulled off his shirt, wrung it out firmly, and offered it to her. She accepted and slipped into it quickly; it was warm from the touch of his skin. Despite herself, she blushed.

They crept along at a snail's pace, finally discovering the cause of the blockage: a three-car pileup. All three had apparently spun out into the ditch, although one seemed to have had the misfortune of striking a tree as well. As a result, the roadway was littered with glass and tire particles as well as several branches, and an officer was directing oncoming traffic. As they sat in the rain, waiting to be guided around the crash site, she looked at him, and he looked at her, and suddenly they asked each other, "So what's Mak gonna think about the car?"

Sheepishly laughing, they smiled at each other for the first time in an hour, and a palpable cloud of tension lifted. Jet drummed his fingers softly on the steering wheel. "We can't go back to the store like this, you know."

"I suppose not."

"I have an apartment in town. It's about four miles from here. We should go there and dry out while I figure out what to do about the car."

"I thought you lived in the bottom of the ship."

"I do, normally. But when the store was first accepted by the Better Business Bureau, I got some calls from apartment complexes in town that had corporate units available. I looked at a few different places and decided to get one. The rent's pretty reasonable, it's a good tax write-off, and the bills are practically nothing because it's almost never used. I just keep some stuff there for the rare occasion that I'm too far from home to get a change of clothes in a hurry."

"Why bother, then? You're paying monthly rent for a closet."

"When my bosses come to town, I send them there as opposed to putting them up in a hotel. And every now and again, Mak uses it between doubles."

It always seems to come back to her, Faye thought, although she said nothing.

Her thoughts must have shown on her face, because Jet laughed upon taking one look at her. "Okay. I promise to try not to say her name for the rest of the day." He looked up, squinting as the rain struck him in the eyes. "At least there's no lightning."

He seemed to have made a habit of speaking too soon.

Lightning bolts began to appear on the horizon, just as he made the left hand turn in front of the blue convenience store and drove toward the Neon Strip. Faye was surprised. "You wouldn't do business in Neon, but you'll take an apartment here?"

"Doing business is one thing. Having a place to call home is something else entirely." He downshifted, carefully balancing between clutch and accelerator as the car idled on a hill at a red light. "I would have gladly rented property in Sunset, but it's mildly dangerous there. And I'm not too fond of coming home to a bare apartment just because I haven't been there for a few days."

"Makes sense," she muttered as he turned down Underwood Lane and into a complex called Cobblestone. The guard at the gate waved him on through, and he pulled into a covered space after making one more right. As soon as the car was in park and off, Faye jumped out, shaking out the excess water that streamed down her skin.

Jet laughed at her bedraggled state, but his laughter abruptly ended as a mechanized _whir _caught their mutual attention. The black leather top emerged and clicked into place, the only exterior part of the car that was still dry.

Faye stared with open mouth.

He blinked and scratched his head, before getting out of the car himself. He smiled, slightly embarrassed. "Whoops. I guess you have to put the parking brake on before the roof will work."

* * *

At least the apartment was warm and cozy. And, Jet mused silently, clean. The maids came through once a week, but dust had an odd way of accumulating almost overnight. He dried the last of the dishes and put them back in the wicker basket, which had grown much lighter as the afternoon progressed. The sole consumable it held at this point was the forgotten bottle of Jagermeister. He removed this, and the accompaniment of shot glasses, and dropped down into the couch, suddenly weary.

Faye emerged from the back through a dissipating cloud of steam, her hair gleaming darkly. He grinned despite his bout of exhaustion. _The woman likes her hot water. Nothing wrong with that._ He patted the cushion and she came and sat. _Good doggie._ "Anything on you wanna watch?" He offered her the remote.

She reached past it and took up a shot glass. "Fill 'er up, barkeep."

"For you, madam, anything." He twisted off the top and poured her a proper shot, before filling his own glass. "To rained out picnics."

"Indeed." She tossed it back quickly, expertly. "More, please."

Jet stopped in the midst of raising his glass to his lips. "Are you kidding me?"

* * *

After her fifth shot, Faye had given up drinking from a glass, opting to take swigs straight from the bottle.

Jet watched her through hooded eyes. His glass lay abandoned, not quite empty, but he couldn't bring himself to finish what was left. It wasn't fair. He hadn't drunk half of what she had, and he felt like a whipped dog. She, on the other hand, seemed to be damn near sober. How much booze had she put away last night to get so crazy? And hadn't they both had two glasses of wine not even three hours ago? He stared at himself, the naked torso with all the scars, the metal arm that still bothered him on occasion, the meaty legs that twitched when he was nervous. In fact, they were twitching now. Damn it all, life really wasn't fair.

"Why ya poutin' over there, hmmm?" One hundred and nine pounds of pressure crashed onto his shoulders as Faye flopped against him gracelessly. She smiled drunkenly at him, lightly scraping her nails across his broad chest. Thrilled by her new toy, she began to sing in a silly voice. "You-didn't-put-yer-shirt-on!"

"Nope," he replied, catching her soft hand in his own. She looked at him expectantly, but there was no further answer forthcoming. She sat up then, with an expression of discontent. "So you don't take advantage of drunken girls, I see."

"You're not drunk, apparently."

"No, I'm not." She stood, running her fingers through her tangled hair. "I can't figure you out at all, Jet."

He sat up as well; the kink in his back had become practically unbearable. "What do you mean?"

She looked at him, frustrated. "Did you turn into a monk or something while I was gone? Don't you ever have…" She stopped, unable to finish.

"A monk?" He could hardly suppress laughter. _Are we desperate?_

"I mean…don't you ever want…or haven't you…"

"Had sex, you mean?" The fiery blush that spread across her face told him he had guessed aright. "Why are you so concerned about my sex life, Faye Valentine?"

"Because it bugs me."

"What bugs you?" He picked up the glasses and the bottle and took them both to the kitchen.

"Well, for one –" She waited until he closed the refrigerator door, "- I never once met a pimp who didn't sleep with his women."

"Just because I don't screw the girls doesn't mean I don't want to have sex. Besides, you've seen some of them already. They have enough problems as it is without some dirty old man taking advantage of them. What else bothers you about me?"

She straightened up. "That you might be one of the only men I know who wasn't trying to get in my pants within two weeks of meeting me."

He looked at her hard. "That bothers you?"

"It's irritating because I don't feel like I have any sway with you. Like, somehow, I'm not good enough for you."

Jet stood, mute for a moment, pondering. "So…it bothers you when someone doesn't respond to your sexuality, because you don't feel like you have another bargaining chip?"

God, he makes it sounds so cheap! "Yeah, I suppose."

"That's horrible, Faye." He looked in the dishwasher, examining the coffee mugs. "But unlike the first thing you said, I have the potential to change this one. Tell me, _hypothetically speaking,_ what would you like to hear come out of my mouth if you had successfully seduced me?"

"Optimally, 'Faye Valentine, get your ass in my bed' would work just fine."

He looked up at her from his crouched position with an expression so intense that she couldn't identify it at all. Slamming the dishwasher door shut as he stood, he glowered down at her, leaving her to wonder if she had offended his dignity. But before she could protest that it was a joke, Jet grabbed her by the arms and pulled her against him, forcing her to stare up to meet his dark eyes.

His big hands nearly spanned the entire small of her back, holding her securely and bringing their lower halves into contact. Faye suddenly recognized that look on his face. It was lust, in its purest, most primitive form. Her pulse raced.

His left hand – the metal one – slowly brushed over her back, leaving airy kisses against the bare skin left exposed by the halter top she had chosen to wear. Before she was conscious of it, she found her face pressed against his naked chest. The wiry hair scraped her flaming cheeks, making them tingle.

His breath came hot against her neck as he leaned down and placed the lightest of kisses between her chin and collarbone. She arched into him, grinding her hips against his own, fighting to not scream aloud.

Just as abruptly as it had begun, it ended. He shoved her back to a convenient distance, staring down at her while she fought a raging disappointment.

"Faye Valentine – "

She flinched, withering under his throaty snarl and searing gaze.

" – get your ass in my bed."

She went.

* * *

Before she could even get in the room proper, he was behind her, hands on her shoulders, moving her body with his own and lavishing kisses on her hot skin, all the while steadily walking her towards the bed. She slid onto it of her own accord, soft and crumbly as sugar. Jet allowed his gaze to drift, moving from her mildly tanned legs to the white cotton shorts that he could see right through. The tiny sliver of skin between the shorts and her top. The pink halter shirt that did little to conceal the heaving breasts. The trembling arms.

And last of all, her face, flushed with nervous excitement. She looked so young and innocent in her arousal that he almost felt guilty for needing her as much as he did. But when he unzipped his pants, and she rose to caress his aching cock through his briefs with an eagerness that belied her apparent languor, the shame vanished, replaced instantly with fire.

He lowered himself onto the bed beside her and gently turned her until they faced each other, knees touching. "Why do you get to keep your clothes on?" he murmured in a gravel-toned _basso profundo_, as he pulled the pink cloth over her head and left her nearly nude in the bikini top. "And these pants…I don't like them at all." He drew her towards him with one hand, the other deftly sliding the cotton material down her hips. As the shorts slid limply to the floor, she crawled into his lap, straddling him.

Their bodies touched, sharing heat. Two slight barriers of thin cloth were all that separated them from possessing each other. Faye ran greedy fingers over his scalp and through the thick tuft of hair that lay on his neck, pulling his head up until their noses met. Her reflection in his eyes looked feral, hungry.

His breath burned her skin, his hands held her thighs hard enough to leave marks. "I'm not him, Faye."

"I know," she whispered, and lowering her lips to his, they kissed.

It was just as she had always wanted it to be: slow, skillful and incredibly hot. Their tongues met, setting her ablaze. His hands grasped the muscles of her back, slowly kneading as he amazed her with her mouth. Her own hands splayed helplessly against his broad chest, fingers tangling in the curled hairs.

He broke it off without warning, using his tongue to gently trace a slow trail down her slender neck, and she fought the urge to rake her nails down his back. Instead, she summoned enough strength to push him back onto the bed, slide his underwear down a few critical inches, and pull her bikini bottom aside. She pinned him down, devouring the sight of his nudity in large sticky bites. "Are we ready for this?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am." He watched, helplessly, as she rose up and slid down, a warm, wet, tight mass that engulfed him in a hot slick grip and threatened to give him a heart attack on the spot. His voice came out as deep bass purrs contrasted against her brittle sobs as she pressed down onto him and into him and against him all at once.

One light brown breast fell out of the bikini top, bouncing with the movement of their lovemaking. He skimmed metal fingers over the dusky pink circle and watched it respond, pulled her down and into his mouth and felt her squirm, gently grazed the erect flesh with his teeth and heard her moans. A sudden clench of her muscles, a slight change in the timbre of her voice – she was nearing the end.

Holding her hips firmly, he pushed into her hard, slowly withdrawing, trying to stave off the feeling of helpless ecstasy. But all too soon, his control collapsed, and with three sharp thrusts, it was over, their bodies arching into each other, back muscles taut with strain, toes curling as they released.

Jet caught her as she slumped forward and draped her arms around his shoulders. She was exhausted, but radiant, glowing under a soft sheen of perspiration. He longed to lie awake and admire her, but sleep beckoned, and he was too weak to resist. Reaching backwards to the head of the bed, he threw the heavy blanket to one side before pulling her under the lighter sheet. He began to leave to take the quilt elsewhere, but at her sleepy cry of protest decided that it could wait until later. Crawling into bed beside her, he pulled her close – and slept.

* * *

Faye woke up first. Apparently Jet had needed more sleep than she did, because he didn't budge as she slipped out from under his arm, and the noise that she made while dressing didn't disturb him in the slightest.

She slipped out of the room and went up front, rummaging in the refrigerator for something appetizing. It was pretty obvious that the only people who really used the place were snobbish: sun-dried tomato bread, feta cheese and certified organic eggs greeted her confused eyes. Groaning, she looked into the cabinet, finally settling for a can of chicken and stars soup. Suitably equipped, she sat down and flipped on the TV set, stopping on a report from Triton.

A reporter, stone-faced, rattled off a story about the high incidence of sick buildings on Neptune's moons, and the number of cases of office workers needing medical leave due to infection. She gestured woodenly behind her, to a hallway where two custodians were mopping the floor. One of the men looked up at the camera momentarily before going about his business.

The remote fell from Faye's hand and bounced on the table as she sat there, frozen in shock. She had just seen Spike.

* * *

Author's Notes:

1. "La Maison Vert" is NOT a real hotel that I know of. It's a throwback to another story that I wrote some time ago; some of you may get the in-joke.

2. The first person to correctly identify the song lyrics (artist and correct title) that I hid in the story gets a cookie!

3. For those of you scratching your heads over the last line, don't worry (too much). I don't like "Spike Resurrections" any more than the next person, and this isn't going to end quite the way it appears. It'll be resolved in the next chapter. I hope.

4. Chapter title is by The Cars. It's a great song. Listen to it sometime.

Thanks so much for all of the reviews! You're welcome to criticize as well as praise, you know. :)


	8. Don't wanna try no more

The talking heads continued to make snide commentary about the state of business on Neptune, but she heard none of it. The news program itself ended and a truly horrible dating show began, and she was oblivious.

_Spike's alive!?_

Without any desire to do so on her part, her teeth began to grind. It was just like him, wasn't it? After all, he had never seen fit to give a damn about her when he was actually around. And to think, she had spent so much time trying not to fall in love with him, and then spent so much chastising herself for being cruel to him, and _then_ spent so much time finding reasons to adore him, and naturally just when she was ready to give up and give in and give herself to him completely, the stupid bastard up and died. And not for her sake, mind you, for _another woman._ And she couldn't accept that – doesn't love conquer _all? –_ and she spent more money than she had ever had and more energy than she could afford searching, searching and just when she had given up at last and told herself 'no more' and finally made a rational decision to actually reciprocate the feelings of the only man in her life who hadn't treated her like a habitual nuisance and truly wanted her around, just when, just when, just FUCKING WHEN –

She bawled. And Jet slept on.

* * *

When the storm passed over, she found herself with a pen in hand, hovering over a convenient sticky-pad. _A Dear John. Sweet lord, how low have I sunk?_ But arguing to herself that it really was the only way to be fair, she gamely set to work. 

'Dear Jet, Saw Spike. Going to say 'hi'. Be back soon.' _That was callous, even for me_. Thinking, she tried again.'Dear Jet. I think that what we did was a mistake and_ –_ ' _and I initiated it. Just great._ 'Dear Jet, I need some time to think about where we're headed…' _No._

She racked her brains a little further before scribbling something down – she hardly knew what, she couldn't see for the tears – and slinking out of the apartment. She knew just where the _Redtail_ was in proximity, and staring straight ahead lest she be tempted to return out of guilt, she left. It was for Spike, after all. What harm could there be in just looking to make _sure? _

_

* * *

_

Jet finally woke up in the late afternoon, watching the dim twilight just beginning to paint the sky with its extensive palette. He noticed the deadly silence in the apartment as well as the missing bed buddy, and his heart sank, but he resisted calling after her. He had expected it, after all. She just wanted a roll in the hay to work off some tension, right? He wasn't there to hold her down.

The note that she left hurt all the same, though.

_Dear Jet,_

_I think that I saw Spike on __Neptune__. I just want to make sure one way or the other. I'll be in touch._

_f_

'In touch'. "To tell me you're not coming back?" he muttered and picking up the phone, dialed.

"Saltwater Cowboys. This is Hector."

"Jet, Hector."

"He's not here right now, sir. May I help you?"

Jet rolled his eyes. Hector was a competent kitchen manager, but by no means was he suited for the front of the house…"This _is_ Jet, Hector."

"Oh!...You want Mak?"

"Please."

An electronic beep later, he heard the line connect and buzz. Two rings later, Mak answered. "Hey, you."

"She's gone."

"Really?" The office door shut in the background. "When?"

"After I slept with her."

"You WHAT?" He almost grinned, imagining the expression of consternation on her face. Almost. "I'll be damned. I think you've just beat Hector for 'biggest damn fool working here'. Were you that bad, you had to run her out afterwards?"

"She thinks she's seen my dead partner on Neptune."

An exasperated sigh. "How'd she get that impression?"

"Judging from what she was watching on telly, I'd say she got it from KNET 82."

"Couldn't she had just looked in the company directory?"

"My sentiments precisely, but she's not that kind of girl. She's more the 'trial and error' type. Look, will you beep the girls and let them know that I'm here? Keep me preoccupied."

"Sure thing. Hey…" her voice grew soft, "you all right?"

"Truthfully? No."

* * *

The girls would gradually began to drift in without knocking, a direct result of their pagers going off with the code 8888. The gatehouse knew better than to question them, sometimes even ferrying them to building M in the company golf cart. 

Jet knew which ones would come first; Kelly, Merise, Prudence, and Zara worked out of their stylish homes in Neon's residential district, counting on him to keep them out of the law's hands and their illegal activities out of the press. Hannah, Julianne, Kaeli, Georgy, Chrissy, Elliana, and Trace worked near the dividing border. They would head his way in about an hour, assuming that they didn't get any customers in the interim. Rochelle, Xandria, Patty, Lucy, Tiffani, Daisy, Elise, and Shandra all worked deep in Sunset and would come last of all.

The first one to show up was the ironically named Prudence, wearing a cap that hid her ash-blonde hair and sunglasses to conceal her clear blue eyes. She talked with Jet for a few minutes about her various johns, declined going to the clinic, and left shortly thereafter. Kelly was next, clearly coming from class and in a rush. She hurriedly told Jet about a customer who was becoming a little too close for comfort before dashing off again. He took notes.

Merise and Zara came at the same time. Zara graciously offered to go last and headed into the bathroom, leaving Merise alone with Jet to voice her concern that she had caught something.

"Are you using the rubbers?"

"Some guys don't like them," she confessed, shamefaced.

"Merise," he rumbled, "this is _your_ health we're talking about. If they don't like to use, tell 'em to fuck the hell off."

"I know," she said, slumping. "But I only work one day a week – and sometimes I haven't made enough –"

"But you lose money by needing treatment." He reached for the phone. "Go see Doc, he knows you're coming."

"Alright," she answered meekly. He hugged her thin shoulders by way of consolation. "Go to the store and get a meal, too."

Zara reemerged once the front door shut, clad in a woolen suit. She sat across from him very primly and answered his polite queries with candor.

Once he had asked her, "Why do you do this?"

And innocently, she asked, "What?"

"Sell yourself. You've got a master's degree. You teach college level courses to gifted high school students. You have a home and a husband. Why whore around?"

She fixed him with a glare. "Because despite all you just mentioned, I happen to enjoy sex. And my husband doesn't, which I didn't know because we were virgins when we married each other. And he told me, quite distinctly one night, that if I was so determined to be an oversexed bitch, that as far as he was concerned I could go get it in the streets. And I did."

"Alright,' he said. And they never mentioned it again.

* * *

Trace showed up with a black eye. Wincing on her behalf, Jet touched up the broken skin with some ointment and carefully cut a piece of flesh-colored gauze to surround the swollen eye. She sat quite still, even though she was clearly in pain. Finally, he was done. "You should go see Doc." 

"I just need some ice. And some aspirin. Those cunts on Poseidon think the whole damn street belongs to them, and it don't. Can't you talk to their pimp? I don't mind fighting, but not every day, y'know?"

He shook his head and patted her arm, which was covered in scratches, either from someone's nails or the pavement. "Why don't you knock off. Go home, get a bath, go see Doc."

"Fine." She picked up her purse and walked out. Jet dialed a number again.

* * *

'Doc' was the informal honorary for a man that Jet had met long ago. He claimed to be a medical student who had to quit school because of a gambling habit. It might have been true. It might have been true, as well, that he was a con man. However, Jet trusted him, and Jet generally didn't trust. His was the sole infirmary that Jet sent his women to, discretion being a key element of the business; more than one girl working under him still had a reputation to lose. 

Doc operated out of Sunset, in an unremarkable warehouse, behind an inconspicuous door marked 'Public Clinic'. The initial offer that Jet had made him to 'take care of a few friends' enabled him to rent the place and keep the lights on, but it wasn't quite enough to buy medication and pay salaries of any nurses desperate enough to sign on.

Thus, neatly caught between a rock and a hard place if he actually wanted to continue practicing medicine, he gladly accepted seven thousand dollars monthly to see the whores as often as they needed to be seen, which turned out to be fairly frequently. Though a net salary of fifty grand annually was hardly 'making it' by a doctor's standard, it was more than enough to keep him afloat in Sunset, and the threat of having it taken away proved sufficient guard against any temptation to take up dice again. He might have had a gambling habit at some point, but the keen intelligence that he had developed as a doctor definitely taught him how to tell when the bread was buttered on _his_ side.

* * *

"Doc, please." 

"Yes, sir."

After a short pause, a gruff voice answered. "Jet, sir? I've seen two ladies today. Any more coming by?"

"You'll know when I know. Mind staying put for another hour and a half?"

"Not at all."

Jet hung up, letting his head drop back with a groan. Was he even doing any good? Sure, Hannah was getting through medical school with Bs, and Rochelle, a grandmother at 33, was able to stay off the pipe since she actually had the money to pay bills at this point, and Patty had been able to leave an abusive situation because she had enough money to move out and get her own place. But what about Chrissy, Julianne, Xandria and Patty, who were all still using despite everything he had done to keep them straight? What about Merise, who had so little common sense that she was willing to risk her health – really, her life – to squeeze in two more men? Or Zara, staying in a loveless marriage to keep up appearances and risking public exposure and the loss of her job at any time?

_You've done all you could. Apart from going into the streets with them – and wiping their asses while you're at it – there's only so much you _can _do. Go have a drink or eat something and stop thinking so much._

He came across the same pretentious food that Faye had, with pretty much the same reaction. A call to the guardhouse was in order.

"Yes, sir?"

"Would you mind giving Daily's a call and having them deliver the usual?"

"Not a problem, Mr. Black. Would you like us to bring to you, or will you come down and get it?"

"I'll be down for it. Call me when it's there." Walking back into the living room, he threw himself on the divan and waited for the door to open again.

* * *

He was in the middle of comforting a shaken Shandra (she had been not only screamed at, but actually chased down the street by a religious fundamentalist) when the phone rang. Deciding against answering immediately, he let the answering machine pick it up. 

_"Mr. Black?"_ Walt's voice was rendered tinny by the machinery. _"Your groceries are here, sir. And there's a young lady here to see you. I don't recognize her, but she insists that she's with you. I'll escort her up, sir, and if you don't want to see her, I'll be more than happy to remove her from the premises."_

Jet thought little of the message. It was probably Elise; she had started just four days ago and had never come by yet. The guards naturally wouldn't recognize her.

A few minutes later, he answered, "Come in," to the rap on the door.

Walt stood in the door, laden with several bags. "Sir. And…?" He stepped aside to reveal Faye Valentine.

Jet stared at her.

She stared right back at him. And well might she stare: Shandra was sitting in Jet's lap, weeping into his neck. For his part, he had both arms around her. Honestly, he was only commiserating, but it looked awfully suspicious at first glance. She did the most natural thing to do under such circumstances. She snarled.

"Sir?" Walt said again, all but forgotten.

"It's fine, Walter. Um…" Carefully setting the girl down, he pulled out his wallet and gave the man all the cash he had on him, a paltry fifteen dollars. "Sorry."

"Oh, sir, this is totally unnecessary."

"Take it anyway, then."

"Yes, sir. And…if I may make so bold, your car…?"

Damn it! Jet smacked his head. "I'd forgotten. Would you mind taking it to Poffrey's? Tell them to bill me." He rummaged in his pockets before finding his target, the spare key. "Can you request next day, if they have it available?"

"Of course." The older man bobbed politely. "I'll take it right now. I should be able to get it in before they close. Goodnight, sir."

"Goodnight." Jet shut the door, resting his head against it for a minute to gather strength before turning to face the scene behind him.

Grocery bags on the floor, check.

Sniffling Shandra, check. Shandra wasn't looking at him, though; she was nervously eyeing the angry Faye.

Angry Faye. Check.

Oh, bloody hell.

He chose the wisest thing to do under the circumstances, putting the groceries away. Faye followed him into the kitchen, silent, brooding. Glaring at him. At him?! Shouldn't it be the other way around? He brushed past her in an attempt to exit. "Excuse me, please."

"You've got some explaining to do," she hissed through clenched teeth.

"As do you, miss. Now pardon me for a moment, I need to say goodbye to my guest."

* * *

As soon as Shandra was safely out of the door, Jet turned around with a longsuffering expression on his face. "That wasn't what you thought." 

"How do you know what I thought?" Faye asked, voice deadly calm.

"Because you have the world's worst poker face. Look, you do recall that I've put myself in a position to be obliged to these women, right?"

"Right," she snapped. "By letting them sit in your lap while you fondle them."

"Oh, for god's sake…" He nearly slammed the refrigerator door, but decided not to; he would just break it and they were too difficult to replace quickly. "Maybe if you bothered to get the whole story instead of jumping to conclusions –"

"Oh, let's hear it," she said, in a tone laced with bitterness. "Please explain to me, Jet Black, that I didn't just walk in to see you with one of your whores in your lap and your hands all over her."

"She was, " he growled back at her. "And what business is it of yours if she was?"

Tears made her burning red cheeks shine. "You bastard," she said, voice trembling. "You held me just like that, not six hours ago. Did you get the chance to tell _her_ to get her ass in your bed? Or did I come in too early and ruin your big scene?"

Jet felt his entire body go limp as his argument fled without a trace. _Oh, hell. Is that what she thought was going on? Oh, hell. Oh…hell._ "Faye –"

"Shut up. Shut up shut up shut up SHUT UP!!!" Too drained to reach out to her, he allowed her to lock herself in the bedroom and could do nothing but listen as she sobbed, feeling wretched.

* * *

Sometime later – it was quite certainly dead of night – Faye found herself waking up with the sheets glued to her face. Grimacing as she ripped them off, she slowly examined her surroundings, rendered ghostly by frosty moonlight. This bed felt strange, and yet familiar. The room itself was full of aromas and scents that she couldn't quite place. Where the hell was she? And then she smelled the faintest metallic odor in the linen, and it all came back with a sickening jolt. 

She cautiously opened the door, figuring that as long as she was awake, she might as well go out front even if it meant another unpleasant surprise. The light was on, and the hallway was equally permeated with good smells. Jet had obviously been cooking.

Jet…

He was watching television with his back to her, but looked up immediately as she emerged from the hallway, face unreadable. "You hungry?"

"A little," she admitted before remembering that she was supposed to be angry with him. _Damn it…_

"I made Waldorf salad. The green pan is with chicken; the clear pan is without." He turned back to watch the bubbly blonde offer an automated vacuum cleaner for only four hundred wulongs in eight easy payments with shipping and handling.

She took a saucer and got a little of each, and naturally it was delicious. Trying not to eat too ravenously, she forewent sitting at the table and placed herself in the easy chair directly perpendicular to Jet, challenging him with her eyes.

He flipped to the Nature Channel.

_So we're back to the stoic philosopher…_by now she had ideas on how to get under that unflappable façade. Licking the creamy dressing from her fork, she asked, casually, "So, how was she?"

"Who?" His voice didn't betray him, but she noticed that imperceptible flinch.

"Y'know, what's her name…Candy, Chandra, Chocolate, whoever." It was a taunting sort of thrust.

He looked her way, eyes hard. "She was fine once I explained to her that she couldn't always pay attention to crazy women who ran up to her on the street waving a religious book. She thought she was going to be physically attacked. I gave her some pepper spray."

Stopped dead in her tracks, Faye ate in silence.

Jet turned to the Game Show Network, watching reruns of 'Ye Olde Pig Farm'. After a few minutes, he looked at her. "You find Spike?"

She scowled. "I turned back once I got to Uranus."

"Why's that? You wanted to know, didn't you?"

"Apparently not badly enough."

He spared her a glance. "What's that mean?"

Sighing, she tried her best to explain. "When I saw him on the news, my heart just sank, and then, somehow, it started beating so hard. And I thought – I thought that if I could just see him one last time, I could just spill my guts to him, and walk away with a clean break. But the closer I got to Neptune, the more scared I got. And I started thinking, 'What if he's got someone else that he's living for now?' And I just couldn't – couldn't stand to be told that I was second best again."

"So you never actually saw him. You thought you saw him on the news, but you didn't quite go to see him in person."

"Yes."

"Let me ask you something." He readjusted his legs before raising a scornful eyebrow at her. "Let's say you found him. What makes you think that you have any right to dump your baggage on him and then just run away like you planned to do? What if he had something to say in return?"

"I…don't know," she answered weakly.

"Furthermore, let's say not only did you find him, but you then told him everything that had been on your mind and how you truly felt about him. Why are you so certain that you'd be able to then just 'walk away' with no more entanglements?"

"I don't know!" she shouted, jumping out of the chair, face ablaze. "And why do you think that you have this…right to judge me?"

"Because you're irrational," he replied with that insufferable poise. "You've been irrational since I met you in a toilet, and you've never changed. Look." He reached out for the laptop that sat on the coffee table, ignored. Or so she thought until he turned it around. "You saw the news program on KNET 82, right? The station website has an archive that dates back over three months. Here's your story and the companies involved." He pointed with the mouse. "Now, all you had to do was go to their links, and scrolled through their employee databases for either a name or a matching physical description. Companies are required to make that information public now, you know. 'Truth in Hiring Demographics', ratified on Venus six years ago, set as precedent throughout the Solar System four years later. And see?" He displayed the matches. "Is this who you saw and thought was Spike?"

Faye stared, disbelieving. The man on the scene was a near physical match…except for the eyes, surrounded by scar tissue and giving them an air of perpetual squintiness. From a distance, the mistake would have been an easy one to make, but confronted by such damning evidence to the contrary…"I can't believe it. It could be him with scars. Is that so hard to believe?"

Jet sat back and sighed. "Didn't I just tell you that you're irrational? If there was a chance in hell that he was alive somewhere, do you think I'd let it go on something as malleable as physical appearance? I actually called a few old friends in ICCP and asked for more extensive proof and guess what? No blood or saliva matches, no fingerprint matches, no DNA matches. It's not him, Faye."

She sunk to the floor, her body becoming dead weight. And neither of them spoke anymore for a while.

* * *

**A/N:** Whew. I've been working on this, off and on,since 4 p.m.Thursday afternoon. It is now 1:15 Friday morning. Marathons drain the life out of me. Anyway. Thanks for your patience, folks. I had some of this written a while ago, but my computer went blooey and refused to connect to the Internet, no way, no how. It took a whole new computer and a lull in the grind of senior level classes to allow me to start serious updates. But now that I've retrieved most of my work from online (yay for 's backup system!) I can actually work steadily. ChapterTitle iscourtesy ofFrankie B. I have no clue who he is. But the song itself is nice, if sad. 

Oh yeah, review or something.


	9. Conclusion

Two more days went by without either of them saying much to the other. Jet went to work early and returned to the apartment late or not at all, and Faye gradually became accustomed to the idea of tackily-dressed women wandering in and out unexpectedly. She hardly spoke to them either, and for their part, they didn't have much to say to her. It was a quiet and disheartening living experience.

Tuesday came along, windswept with a gloomy sky, and she had no energy to leave the apartment, spending the majority of her day in a light doze and her afternoon painting all twenty of her nails. She was lying on the broad couch trying to watch a war documentary when Mak came in, drenched from the steady rain. "Hey, you. Whatcha watchin'?" Before Faye could answer, she was in the master bedroom.

Faye followed her, seating herself on the bed as Mak threw open the closet and began to wrestle with a suitcase. "Time for that vacation?"

"You know it. I been waiting all year for this one, and it's only 18 hours away now. You ever been to Io? It's one of Jupiter's moons."

Faye shook her head as Mak started rummaging the oak bureau. "It's got some absolutely gorgeous beaches. If you ever seen a picture of the Bahamas on Earth in the 20th century, you know what I mean. I was a lil' chile when they first started on them beaches, and all my life in Neon I heard about 'em. I'm ready to see 'em now." She grinned, looking strikingly child-like, and despite herself, Faye smiled in return. "I'm real excited. Shoulda gone a long time ago, but I never had the dough."

That's right…Jet was financing most of this vacation. Faye's smile faltered, and she ground her toes into the carpet.

"You all right?"

"Not really."

"I thought not. You know, ever since that night you went runnin' out of the restaurant, Jet ain't been actin' right. He's been 'bout as distracted as they come, and you ain't looked happy for more than a minute at the time. You two fall out or somethin'?" She pitched multiple bikinis into the open suitcase.

"Mak, do you like Jet?"

"Sure, he's a great boss." She examined a set of cotton sundresses. "I bet that ain't what you meant. Yeah, I used to like 'im."

"What happened?"

"We couldn't get our act together quick enough. He'd like me, I'd have a boyfriend at the time and by the time I would break up with the boyfriend, he wouldn't be interested no more. 'Bout the fifth time it happened we just figured we weren't meant to be, y'know? The cool thing is, that never stopped us from caring 'bout each other – we just knew there wasn't no point in trying to be serious."

"So the only thing that kept you two from being together –"

"- was me liking another man at the time, among other things. I mean, who's to say we wouldn't of hooked up and found we hated each other's guts? But there's no way to know now." Mak grinned again. "I swore off on him. Jet Black's a dangerous man to get hooked on if you're just tryin' to fool around. He's not what I'd call a 'one-nighter.'"

Faye didn't answer, turning away to stare out of the window that showed her a reflection of the room instead of the rainy dusk. The thump of fabric hitting canvas told her that Mak was still packing, rather hurriedly. "How long will you be on Io?"

"Eight days. Cruise takes a full day to cross the asteroid belt and docks at 8 a.m. on Wednesday. I guess I'll choose my tours while I'm there. Or maybe I'll just dick around the beaches and play footsie with the cabana boys. Who knows. As long as civil war don't start either here or there, you'll see me next Friday. And you two better be straightened out one way or th'other by the way the time I come back, cuz I'm damn tired of watchin' Jet drag around like a kicked puppy."

They heard the heavy sound of a grown man running up wooden stairs too late to stop talking. Jet burst through the front door and made a beeline for the back of the apartment, sparing them only a glance as he playfully muscled Mak away from the open closet. "Don't let me interrupt. I just need a different shirt." His current shirt, sodden down by the rain, betrayed nothing from behind, but when he turned around, the fabric resembled a piece of modern art. Mak laughed. "What the hell? You got in the way of the double boiler, didntcha?"

"You know it," he answered, sighing.

"Hey," Mak shouted as he went into the bathroom to change. "We were just talking about tomorrow."

"What about it?"

"I made a reservation at Fulani 'bout three months ago 'fore I knew I'd be outta town, but if you flake out on a reservation there, they won't reserve for you again. Why don't you an' Faye go for me?"

Jet poked his head out of the bathroom, face distorted. "Mak, get real."

"I _am_ real. You gotta go or I'll be in trouble next time I wanna take anyone there. C'mon, Jet. I know you get sick of eatin' seafood non-stop. Try some Cuban for a change."

The only answer was the sound of the door slamming. Mak looked at Faye, who sat motionless on the bed. "That's his way of saying 'alright' when he's pissed. That's about the best I can do for you, hon. It's on you now."

* * *

Jet carefully cleaned the straight razor with an alcohol-soaked cloth, wiping down the metal blade until it gleamed, a characteristic of nearly everything he did when he was nervous. _If you can't control what's going on, overcompensate._ Satisfied that he wouldn't contract any diseases from the blade this morning, he began to skim the edge over his face, scraping the coarse stubble from his cheeks and sculpting the hair that remained into the labor-intensive pattern that he had worn since he was old enough to shave.

After this, there was a ritualistic choosing of what shirt to wear: feeling moody? Go with primaries. How about dreamy and sweet? In that case, pastels. A little flushed? Warm colors. A wee bit melancholy? Cool colors. Patterns? Stripes? Solids? Textured? He stood in front of the closet for nearly seven minutes before sighing deeply and going with simple black cotton. It paired nicely with the crisp khaki slacks that hung on the door.

There was absolutely no reason he should be so nervous today. His hands trembled as he splashed on aftershave.

"Oh, you're ready."

He jumped, cursing silently. Faye had come into the room without his notice. "Ready to go?" His voice sounded too calm to be his own.

"Yeah." Her voice was more distant; she was looking away from him, staring out of the window.

The Mustang was parked in front of the building. It had taken more than one day to completely remove the water stains from the leather, but the gentlemen at Poffrey's didn't have a city-wide reputation for nothing. Mak had been forgiving of the ill-treatment of her car, and graciously allowed Jet to continue using it while she was out of town. "Just make sure you put the damn top up next time it rains."

"Where are we headed?" Her dark violet hair was bound in a tiny bun, but the shorter strands whipped around her face as they drove along. It made her look mischievous.

Just three days ago, he had kissed her for the first time ever. And now they were back to being strangers. She was a ghost, torturing his thoughts and impossible to touch even when she was sitting two feet away. And he was turning into a robot, feelings so suppressed that he wasn't even sure he felt. Even when it felt awful. Or amazing.

_"Jet."_ Her eyes were growing dark with anger. "You could at least answer me, even if you're annoyed with me."

"I'm not –"

"You've all but ignored me for two days straight. Why bother taking me to lunch if you don't want to talk to me today either?"

He slowed down and let the stick fall into neutral. The car idled patiently as the signal turned green for the opposing lanes of traffic. "Can you wait until we get to the place? Then you can yell at me all you want."

"What's wrong with right here?" Her eyes lacerated his skin. "Don't want your streetwalkers to see their big bad pimp get his ass handed to him?"

He slumped, suddenly feeling like an old man just realizing that he had made a very poor choice in female companionship. "If you'll just wait five more minutes until we get there, I promise to let you say as much as is…necessary."

She snorted and turned away. Jet caught a glimpse of her flushed face. Whatever was on her mind, it was pretty serious. He had to remind himself not to fend her off with sarcasm. Today just was not the day for the usual theatrics.

Fulani loomed ahead, valets at the ready. As they exited the car and Jet handed the keys off to the waiting hop, the glass doors opened with a yawn, ready to eat them both alive.

* * *

The wait for the table was uneventful, and they sipped their complimentary mineral water in silence. Faye didn't ask him any more questions, since her primary one had been answered by their arrival.

It was hard to believe that they were in a restaurant, he thought. The waiting area rivaled a five-star hotel's. A glass and marble sculpture of a Nereid on a dolphin's back greeted all patrons, along with several very garish-looking paintings that were clearly expensive, if ugly.

"Sir, Miss. Your table is ready."

They followed the neatly-dressed hostess to a window seat, a table covered with white linen and delicate glassware. Faye sat down closer to the window, presumably so she would have a distraction should the conversation become too intense, or never start at all. She ignored the menu that the hostess placed in front of her and didn't answer when the woman asked her about another drink, so Jet ordered two bottles of water and the coconut shrimp appetizer for their mutual meal. He had always been curious about this place's food, but had never quite been able to make time to visit, even though the owner had invited him over several times. It figured that it would take something as dramatic as say, Faye Valentine, to throw his careful life into an awful tailspin, and give him the time to do things that he had always been able to put off before. Such as eat another restaurant's version of coconut shrimp – Mak would be so disappointed with him for eating seafood yet _again_.

"We should probably be talking," Faye commented as the woman left.

"Let's talk, then." He sat up a little straighter in his chair. "First off, why are you so mad at me?"

She leveled her eyes at him and said nothing.

"All right, we'll try something tangible." The bottles of Pellegrini arrived, and he busied himself with opening one. "How about you explain to me exactly why you're here in my life after two years of no contact and why you haven't left yet, since you swore you were leaving three days ago."

"Because I found something here that I wanted to keep."

"So, keep it."

"I'm trying," she said plaintively. "But I'm not like you, Jet."

"And I'm not like him, Faye. I'll _never_ be him. And if that's what this is – you want me around, but you want to be free to run out of the door at all times to look for him – then you should go."

"Jet, for God's sake, why you don't care anymore?" She was keeping her voice level, with noticeable effort. "He was part of your life! Even before I got involved! You were one of his best friends! How can you just throw that away?"

"Faye –" and she could hear the trembling anger in his tone, "- you don't know how damn hard I had to try _to_ give it up. Don't you think every time I see green hair, I look twice? Whenever I see a skinny guy in a suit smoking, I don't wonder? But I couldn't keep looking backwards. I didn't want to go insane. I had to live life, because life didn't stop for me. Or him. Or you. Or anybody. I had to go _on,_ Faye."

She turned to the window, face clouded.

"Faye, please listen, because I don't think I can say this more than once."

The waitress (whom up to this point neither of them had noticed) brought a plate of pan-fried shrimp sheeted with transparent flakes of coconut, and several unidentified sauces. Faye slowly turned to face him, the food's steam little protection against whatever might come out of his mouth.

"Faye, I love you –"

_Huh?_

"- and I want you –"

_But…_

"- but I don't need this."

_Huh?_

He examined one of the pink shrimp closely, practically dissecting it with his cocktail fork. "I generally like certainty in my life, Faye. I like to know that for the most part, tomorrow will be something like today. Why in hell do you think I run a business as monotonous as a restaurant? I'm a fairly mundane person who doesn't mind living a routine life. And intergalactic space-hopping isn't part of the plan right now, and I'm not sure it ever will be again."

She bit her bottom lip, why, he wasn't sure. Was she trying not to speak, or trying not to cry? But she released the lip soon enough, and turned over a few of the shrimp.

"The ISSP gave me an urn two years ago; they said it was Spike's ashes. Problem is, the report was inconclusive, so there's a good chance it's _not_ him. I've kept it because it stabilized me, but I've never felt any need to open it or get the ashes tested myself." He chewed the pink meat thoughtfully. "Maybe I've just been afraid of what I might learn, one way or the other. If you want it, you can have it – get it tested or something."

"You would give away your only memento of him? Just like that?"

"I've got plenty of memories of Spike Spiegel. Most of them are permanent. That urn served its purpose a long time ago. It stays in the closet now."

She looked almost heartbroken. "You really have changed, haven't you?"

"I told you I had."

"I didn't want to believe it."

"Well, denial's not the way to go. At least not for me." He drained his glass and reached for the second bottle, which was perspiring in the room temperature. "Don't get me wrong. I'll never forget him. But he's not my reason to live. _I_ am."

* * *

The shrimp were gone, and Jet was making mental notes of their flavor when the long-absent waitress came by again. "Any after-dinner drinks? Dessert?"

Faye ordered a glass of Patron tequila. She looked so glum. Had this lunch done any good at all?

"…have you tried to keep in touch with Ed?"

"I send her email every two months. Sometimes she answers, sometimes I don't hear from her until half the year is gone. Strangely enough, her father does some bounty hunting now. He writes me a few times a month and invites me along by offering me a third of the reward. I never answer those emails."

"I never thought you to be the type to turn down money."

"If the man showed up on the ship tomorrow in the flesh, I'd say howdy and keep right on managing my store. I really don't think there's anything anyone could do at this point to pull me back into that life, Faye. Some people can do it forever – I'm just not one of them."

The waitress set down the glass and the bill. Faye examined her liquor while Jet commandeered the bill. 50 wulongs for two bottles of water, an appetizer and a drink. Ye gods. No wonder people ran screaming out of Neon on such a regular basis.

They walked out, if not quite together, at least closer in proximity than they had come in. As they descended the shaded steps and walked towards the garage (the valet had handed Jet the claims ticket, at Jet's request), Faye jerked to a stop. Jet looked up in time to see a slender man with poofy green hair walking the opposite way down the other side of the street. He was tall, but it was hard to tell, because he was hunched over as he shuffled along.

Faye looked at Jet, distraught. But Jet was already on his way to the garage again. And she stood there, watching the two men walk farther and farther apart.

* * *

The car was waiting for him on the second level of the five-story garage. Jet unlocked it with the remote keypad, momentarily blinded by the glare of the taillights as the alarm disengaged.

As he climbed into the driver's side, cursing the bucket seat, a woman's small hand knocked on the tinted passenger window. He unlocked the door without thinking, and Faye all but fell into the car, panting, face streaky, hair damp. She looked as if she had run the whole way from the street.

"I just ran the whole way from the street," she gasped out. "I was afraid you would leave…"

"I'm still here."

She nodded, struggling to breathe.

"Did you go talk to him?"

She shook her head no.

"Well, what does that mean, Faye? Are you ever really going to want to know, or are you going to back off every time you feel unsure?"

"This is what it means," she whispered, and kissed him, leaving the warm taste of tequila all over his mouth.

* * *

It wasn't long before they were back in the apartment, pounding each other in the mattress for all they were worth, covering the sheets with sweat and mutually wondering how they could have resisted making love for two whole days. Afterwards, they lay awake, smoking.

"Faye."

"Hmm."

"Let's get one thing straight." Jet sat up and stubbed out his stick. "I don't mind if a relationship ends. But I don't like one-shots. You can take that for whatever you will."

"What _do_ you like, Jet?"

"I like it when someone is confident enough to be themselves. Don't suppose that I want you to change for my sake. I want you to be Faye Valentine, every part of her. Whatever that may mean."

So the next day, when he went to work, she went elsewhere. And the next, and the next, because being Faye Valentine was not the same thing as being Jet Black. And he was quite alright with that.

She came and went, and even occasionally showed up at the restaurant to work. If Jet was there, they talked about whatever was on either of their minds, and when he wasn't, she sat in his room and looked through the box that he had given her to rummage through – a box full of the crew's paraphernalia.

With time – it took several months, but it happened - she found that she didn't have as much desire to dwell on the past as before. And certainly, her days on Ganymede didn't have the extremes of ecstasy and agony of a bounty hunter's lifestyle, but in its own way, her new life was charming. The prospect of a drive in the country now held as much appeal as gambling on horses.

One balmy Saturday, Jet invited her out on a picnic again, promising good weather. So they made their way out to a different park – one with a freshwater spring within a five-minute walk.

The food was excellent, of course; Mak had made the entire meal herself. They ate slowly and teased each other about their choice in clothing, and made silly pictures out of the clouds, and Faye tried to climb a tree, but gave up quickly. Jet suggested a dip in the spring.

"I don't know how to swim."

"Oh, don't worry. There's a loading dock of sorts. You can stand on it and get your feet wet, if you don't trust me to keep you from drowning."

She agreed hesitantly; that dream she had eight months ago was still fresh in her mind. Jet picked her up with a grin and marched straight in while holding her close.

The coldness made her gasp, but it soon faded into a vague, liquid sensation. Jet's hands felt good on her back as they stood shoulder-deep, alone in the spring. The wind blew through her hair and rustled the leaves above them as they kissed.

Quite suddenly the sunlight was gone, and the wind felt cold. But Jet's hands were still on her back, and his lips brushed against her throat as her head tipped back, her hair spreading out in the water.

Pinpricks on her cheeks made her open her eyes – rain. She jerked, but the hands on her back stiffened.

"Don't worry about it," Jet moaned against her ear. "Just let it rain."

He moved further down her body, placing burning kisses all over her chest, her stomach, steadily moving lower on her floating body. Faye closed her eyes, feeling the wind blow. His hands, holding her. His mouth.

And it rained.

_fin_

* * *

Author's Notes:

All right, that's it. Oh, what happens next? Whatever you want. :-)

Thank you to everyone who reviewed and kept up with this story through its very long process (sorry, I'm just not a very quick writer, especially on longer endeavors - this entire file is now 57 pages in MSWord. Eeek.), and people who were kind enough to point out my silly errors. This will probably be my last CB for quite some time, unless I watch the series again (not likely). I had fun. I hope you did too.

april

* * *


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